


Outbreak

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Death of minor characters, M/M, Multi, Orcs, Trolls, zombie!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 30,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins has lived a solitary life, and finds it helps him in surviving when the Outbreak happens. So when he's saved by a small fraction of the military that has managed to survive he's thrust back into humanity, fighting to make his way to Erebor, a safe haven for all survivors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a Zombie!AU. No, I don't care if you think it's cheesy and overused. Tags to be added as I go.

Bilbo had been alone so long that when it happened he hadn’t lost as much as others.

He’d always been somewhat of a loner, keeping to himself, his world simply working in the bookshop and going home, drinking tea and reading a new book.

So when the Virus had first spread, and the people around him had been taken, he’d probably handled it a lot better than others.

After all, what did you have to lose when you had nothing?

His life had become nothing more than a constant race; he was now surrounded by nothing but death.

Though he was used to that- death had been around him long before the Virus had started.

The scientists had called it SMAUG, though he didn’t know what it stood for. All he knew is that once the infection was passed from one carrier to another it wore at your body and brain, breaking down every barrier you had until eventually you were nothing more than a meat bag of your baser emotions; anger and violence and hunger. Logical thinking was swept for your mind in the search for something to sate the thirst, though it seemed that nothing would.  You weren’t human anymore. You were an Orc.

The prospect of it was utterly terrifying.

Soon enough it had spread through most of the population and chaos had descended, sweeping like a wave over the world. The army had been unprepared for such a thing, and had quickly deteriorated along with government. The streets had been filled with chaos and then... nothing.

Simply silence.

Those who survived those first few months knew to keep the silence, save something hear them.

Small groups remained, hiding in sewer systems, in corners of apartment complexes. They found weapons where they could and scavenged for food.

In the beginning, when Bilbo had been with others, there had been rumours of a safe place, where what was left of the army was based, where people could live safely, but that’s all it was. A rumour. Erebor was not real.

Though that didn’t stop Bilbo from foolishly hoping that maybe one day soon he would hear something over the old radio he carried around, or would find somebody who could take him away from this place  and to somewhere safe.

But no one ever did, and the days passed and the group he’d been with was slowly picked off, one by one, and then he became more alone and isolated then he ever had been in life, which was saying something.

He stayed on the edges, not daring to go any further into the city that had once been his home, and kept himself moving from place to place. This time he’d actually found somewhere with a bed and a door that locked. Not going to look a gift horse in the mouth he’d quickly jumped on the luxury of not having to sleep on a cold, hard, dirty floor.

He sat on the bed now, appreciating the lovely creaking noise it made under his weight, and closed his eyes. He’d barely eaten anything since he was lucky enough to stumble upon a can of terrible tasting Spam three days ago.

In the distance a shuffling sound, feet scraping against the ground, a door being knocked open. His eyes flew open and he straightened.

He’d stayed here too long.

They’d find you; they always found you in a place like this.

Bilbo jumped to his feet, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder.

He had to leave.

 _Now_.

Before the Orcs got him.

Once they caught a sniff they were like fucking Bloodhounds.

He burst out of the room and down the hall, having memorised the way to the fire escape the minute he found the place. Halfway down the hallway he heard snarling and incomprehensible yelling. This was not good. He broke into a sprint, skidding around the corner and into the stairwell.

He made it to the bottom floor, bursting out and across the room, out into the street where the sun was dwindling into dusk. It was too dark; there’d be more of them out. He was completely screwed.

He tried to bolt down the road but one grabbed him, throwing him across the street and into the wall of an abandoned shop, winding him. He crawled backwards, feeling about for some kind of weapon. His hands grasped a plank that had fallen off from a boarded up window and his fingers curled around it. The Orc neared and he swung the plank upwards, hitting hi macros the face and sending him onto his back.

Bilbo struggled to his feet and ran in the opposite direction, but he’d already caught the attention of a another group of Orcs who rushed him. He managed to brain the first one with the plank, but it was ripped from his hands painfully and he was grabbed by a number of violent, hungry hands.

Then, suddenly, a huge shot of bright light filled the sky and he was temporarily deafened by the loud, harsh noise that followed. He only just had time to recognise it as gunfire when he fell onto his back at the sound, hands covering his face from the bright light.

There was snarling, and machine gun fire and then silence.

Unconsciousness took him briefly.

“Do you think he’s alright?”

Was that what he thought it was?

“He seems to be in relatively good health.”

It was.

“He certainly doesn’t look like an Orc, either.”

Voices. He was right. It was voices.

“But he could be bitten.”

Bilbo felt his head roll to the side and he slowly opened his eyes. Heavy looking boots, lots of boots, which meant lots of feet... which meant _people_.

He shot upwards, scrambling back away from them.

“Hey now,” a white haired beared man put his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Calm, little one: we’re here to help,” Bilbo just looked up at them. They wore heavy military clothing and were completely covered in weaponry, everything from guns to bloody _axes_.

Suddenly he was yanked to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Bilbo had no reply for the man who was staring at him now, demanding an answer.  “Were you bitten?” he was shaken violently. “ _Were you bitten_?” he managed to shake his head dumbly.

“He’s frightened, Gloin, let the boy go,” the tight grip on his shoulders was released and Bilbo came face-to-face with the second man. Well, he said face-to-face, but really it was more like face-to-chest. The man was _massive_.

“What’s your name?” the second man asked, much taller than the one he’d called Gloin, and scarily muscled and tattooed. Bilbo jus t stared, eyes wide. It had been a long time since he’d seen people. _Real_ _people,_ and _not_ _Orcs_. It was only then he realised he hadn’t spoken in a very long time. He’d had no need to.

“Maybe he doesn’t speak English,” a smaller voice piped up from behind them, Bilbo couldn’t see much past the brawny man’s big shoulders, only a shot of unruly, mussed brown hair.

“Or maybe he’s just stupid,” the next voice was easier to see, the long blonde hair, tied back into a ponytail was enough to catch his eye, even in the dark.

“B-Bilbo,” he managed finally, the words scratchy and sore from lack of use. “Bilbo Baggins. My name is Bilbo Baggins,”

“Well, Bilbo Baggins, welcome to The Company. Let’s get moving before it gets any darker, we don’t want to attract any more attention then we already have.”

And then suddenly, Bilbo was surrounded by life again.

 

 

 


	2. A Hearty Stew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are- chapter two! Thought I'd give you all some more because I'm out today and won't be writing. Ugh, people. Civilisation. Pity me!

“You must be hungry,” the young brown-haired man offered him a muesli bar. He must have been Bilbo’s age, maybe younger. Bilbo looked at the bar like it was made of solid gold. The man laughed and threw it to him. “Go ahead, you need it more than I do,” Bilbo promptly ripped the wrapper open and devoured the thing almost whole.

“How long had it been since you’ve eaten?” he asked now.

“Probably a while,” the golden-haired replied when Bilbo didn’t speak. “Look at him, he’s so thin.” Bilbo remembered having once been teased for being a little chubby. How things had changed. “I’m Fili,” he announced now, “This is my brother Kili.”

“That’s Dwalin there,” Kili pointed to the massive man sitting beside him now, skin littered in strange looking tattoos, “and his brother Balin,” then to the man in the driver’s seat of the artillery vehicle, the one with the long white hair and beard. “And that’s Gloin there,” Kili gestured to the man beside him in the passenger seat. “We’ve been scouring the city for survivors these past few days and you’re the only one we’ve found.” That was because everyone else was smart enough to get out of the city when they could. But Bilbo kept his mouth shut.

“Thank you,” he said finally, breaking the silence. He cleared his throat, his voice still rusty. “For the food,”

“No problem,”

“It’s sort of our job to look after people,” Fili added, giving a shrug.

“Where are we going?”

“We have a makeshift base just a few miles out of the city. We’ve only found a few more survivors, so we’ll be leaving to return to Erebor soon,”

“Erebor?”

“Yeah, you heard of it?” Kili snorted. “What am I saying? Of course you have,”

“I didn’t think it was real.” Bilbo found himself saying now.

“Well, it’s real. And we’ll get there as soon as we can.”

He must be sleeping. He must be. He’d wake up any minute now alone and cold and hungry.

“But for now we’ll be at the base soon enough and you can get some proper sleep.”

The prospect of an easy sleep lit Bilbo’s body aflame with aching need. He felt like sobbing in relief.

People.

These were people.

Real, human people, not genetic mutations transmuted into something unnatural.

He suddenly felt a multitude of excitement roll through his body. He was alive and so were they and Erebor did exist maybe there was some kind of hope to be found in that.

The makeshift base was just that: an old shop turned into a heavily barricaded fortress. They were greeted eagerly by a few others. A massive, red-headed man and a man of considerably smaller size (though he looked rather similar to the first), wearing one of those Cossack hats with the flaps at the sides. Both seemed quite happy that they’d found someone, and the second man went on about it as he showed Bilbo to somewhere he could get some food, telling him that the group had been searching for days, but had barely found anyone.

“If we bring just one survivor back it’s a good day to me,” he’d chortled, giving Bilbo a hearty pat on the back. “I’m Bofur, by the way. That’s my brother, Bombur,” he pointed to the massive man, “I know what you’re thinking, he’d be a feast for the Orcs, wouldn’t he?!” At Bilbo’s shocked expression Bofur laughed, loud and heartily, which sort of felt soothing. He hadn’t seen anyone laugh in so long.

“Bilbo, was it?” he gave a jerky nod at Bofur’s question. “Kili said you’d be a bit quiet. How long have you been on your own?” Bilbo tried to count the days, the weeks, the months, but for the life of him he had no clue.

“A while,” was all he could reply. “Too long, I think,” he added. So long it seemed strange to be having a conversation, to hear someone laughing, to see a face that wasn’t dark and mutilated and twisted with blood lust. He swallowed.

“Well, we’ll soon fix that. Let’s get you some food. You look a little too thin for my liking. Bombur’s as well,” he gave a wink.

“We like it big in my family, you can probably tell.” Bilbo found himself blushing, though he knew Bofur’s words had no intention of embarrassing.

They made their way through the base now, Bofur still chattering, and turned into a warm looking room stuffed with two long tables and a bunch of chairs. The walls were dirty and fraying, the windows boarded up (obviously) and the only person inside was a short, frail looking man who was huddling into himself in the corner of one table, trying to seem as small and insignificant as possible.

Bofur stopped as they walked past him.

“This is Ori,” he gestured to the little man, who was hastily knitting. “We found him and his two brothers a few days ago; they were hiding in a office building on the other side of city. He didn’t speak much either,” the small man smiled up shyly at him now. “Take a seat,” Bofur pressed his hands onto Bilbo’s shoulders and gave him a gentle push into the seat, “we’ll get some food in you in no time.” He walked off now, leaving Bilbo alone with the man.

“Hello,” Ori said now, voice very small. He lowered the knitting needles in his hands, but still clutched at tem desperately, like they held some sort of normalcy for him. Bilbo understood. He didn’t reply, and Ori went back to looking down at his hands.

Bilbo felt like he should say something. “I like your thing,” he pointed to the wool now, not really sure what it was.

“Oh?” Ori held it up. “Thanks, it’s supposed to be a scarf, but I, uh...” he laughed a little nervously, “well, I suppose I was concentrating. I just do it now because it calms me.”

“I wish I knew how to,” it seemed like a good, simply task to keep one occupied for a little while, and it wasn’t too heavy to cart around. You had to have a hobby if you wanted to survive this sort of thing with your sanity intact.

“I can teach you... if you’d like,” Ori offered now, lifting the needles up as an offering.

“That would be nice,” he paused. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen other people,” he admitted now, shuffling nervously in his seat. But Ori just nodded, looking sympathetic

“I know what you mean,” Ori replied now. “I suppose I had my brothers, though, at least. But it was awful lonely,” Bilbo nodded his agreement as Bofur arrived again, steaming pot in his hands.

“Here we are: nice, hearty stew.” The smell was heavenly, and Bilbo eagerly took the bowl, scooping a spoonful up and ladling it into his mouth now. He groaned at the taste and Bofur laughed.

“Bombur’ll be happy to hear someone likes his cooking,”

Bilbo probably looked like some sort of starving animal, but he didn’t care. It had been so long since he’d had a proper meal.

Ori smiled. “I was like that, too,” he told Bilbo as he ate. “Couldn’t get enough of it,”

He devoured the meal in a minute flat, ignoring Bofur’s concerns about indigestion from eating too quickly. Who cared about indigestion when there was food in front of him, actual food, and not a packet of stale crisps he’d found while scavenging.

There was silence until Bofur was sure he’d finished eating, before he took the bowl and led Bilbo too where they could sleep for the night.

“Now, we do have running water, luckily enough, a luxury I’m sure you’re not used to. But it is cold. Unfortunately, heating isn’t a mercy Mahal has offered to us. It’s just down the hall,” he gestured out the door, pointing in the direction Bilbo needed to go, “you’ll find it straight away. Clean yourself up,”

Bilbo muttered his thank-you’s and found it easily enough, delighting in being able to wash the dirt that had gathered up on his body. Even if it was cold, it was still a wonder. He laughed in delight when he lathered his hair up, ridding it of the clumps, and he hadn’t had something to laugh about in a very long time.

It was later that night, when passing down a hall to get back to the beds, that Bilbo heard voices emerge from one of the rooms, one of which he recognised.

“Four people? Only four?” the words were hissed, but spoken angrily and loudly enough for Bilbo to hear them through the door. He slowed to a stop, scolding himself for rudely eavesdropping, but unable to move away. “We’ve been here weeks now, there should be more.”

He heard Dwalin, one of the soldiers who’d saved him, reply calmly to the first man. “What else do we expect from the big cities, though? They’ve all but been wiped clean. Thrain understands that, he knew it was a long shot coming through here.”  
The other man was sighing now. “It just seems like such a waste,”

“Hey,” Dwalin said now, “four people. We saved four people, and that’s something.”

“Yes, I know,” Bilbo could hear the resignation in his voice, “I was just hoping we’d find more.”

“We all were,” Dwalin replied, voice strained, “But I suppose this isn’t the right time for wishful thinking.”

“You’re right,” the other sounded acquiescent. “We’ll ship out tomorrow; get on the way back to Erebor.”

Erebor. The word thrilled him. He would be there soon, with some form of civilisation and relative safety. The prospect was utterly wonderful.

They just had to survive long enough to get there first.

 

 

 


	3. A Fuel Stop

The next morning arrived and with it Bilbo felt a renewed sense of vigour that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He had some sort of purpose now, an aim, an endgame to work towards, that had to be accomplished. He found Ori first, his bag packed, knitting in the same room he’d first met Bilbo in. The canteen? Bilbo wasn’t sure what he should call it. Whatever it was they wouldn’t be in it for much longer. Along with Ori, there were two other men, a cheery, loud man with strange pointy hair and a mothering older man who was greying. Nori and Dori, Ori had introduced them as.

They’d owned a teashop together before the world had fallen apart, and Nori had made good use of his old profession, getting into locked houses and buildings with ease, lifting food from stores silently without being noticed by Orcs. Then things had gotten increasingly worse, and the number of Orcs had multiplied. They hid away, rationing what they had, and were eventually found by Dwalin and the others.

“He’s really quite nice,” Ori was saying now, fiddling with the wool he was rolling up. “Dwalin, I mean,” he explained when Bilbo had frowned in confusion. “He doesn’t talk much, but he’s very nice-”

“Ignore him,” Nori said now, “he’s been smitten ever since the bastard set his heavy boots on our doorstep.”

Ori spluttered and Dori scolded his brother, saying that there was no need to talk about one of the men who had saved them in such a way. Nori just rolled his eyes.

“I am not _smitten_ ,” Ori managed eventually, face a bright red. Bilbo felt his lips twitch, but they returned to their usual neutral state soon after.

“So what did you do before the world went to shit?” Nori asked now as they ate their breakfast.

“I worked in a bookshop,” when he realised Nori was waiting for more he smiled softly, “that’s about it really, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I’m sure by the end of this you’ll have a few stories to tell.” _If he was alive to tell them, sure._

“Maybe,” he said instead, finishing his breakfast.

Fili and Kili were the next to find him, coming in and suggesting he pick some sort of weapon from their arsenal.

“Guns aren’t really that great, because we don’t have too much ammunition,” Fili was saying now, “but a good old baseball bat is always a fine option.”

“Oh, uh, I suppose... I don’t really mind,”

“Anything’s better than a plank of wood, huh?” Kili grinned, slapping his back. “I’ll go grab something for you,” he waltzed off, cheerful as ever.

“Ignore him. The constant sunshine-state annoys some people, but it’s how he copes.”

“Interesting technique,” Bilbo murmured now, watching him turn the corner.

“Well, someone’s got to be optimistic, right?”

“I suppose,” he shuffled awkwardly. “When do we leave?”

“About an hour or so, Uncle’s got to make sure everything’s in order. Then we’ve got to make sure we’ve got enough petrol to get us where we need to go. It’s hard hitting petrol stations when you’ve got civilians.”

“I can imagine,”

“But if we need to we need to,” Fili gave a shrug, blonde hair flicking with the movement. “Can’t help that,”

“And what if we can’t find petrol?”

“We ditch it and keep going on foot. It’ll take longer and be more dangerous, but like I said: can’t help that.”

“Are we ready?” the heavy stomping of boots filled the hair and Dwalin turned the corner, along with another man Bilbo hadn’t seen. He was just as tall as Dwalin, if not taller, and equally as frightening.

“Who’s that?” Bilbo asked now.

“That’s Thorin, our uncle and General.”

“We’d follow him into any battle,” Kili added, looking at his uncle with pride. Bilbo supposed he could see the resemblance, but the two boys seemed so much... nicer, perhaps was the word. Thorin seemed so _harsh_. Then again, this was an apocalypse. It tended to bring out the harsher side of people.

“All ready to go, sir,” Balin said, straightening up.

“Alright, let’s move out.” They all started to move and Fili and Kili nudged him along, moving him to the artillery vehicle.

“Good thing we didn’t find too many people,” Kili was saying now, “or else we’d have had trouble fitting us all in.”

“Come on, you lot,” Fili gestured for the Ri brothers to come forward.

“Can I... sit by you?” Ori asked tentatively, shuffling forwards.

“Sure,” he could use some company.

“We don’t have a hell of a lot of petrol, so we’re going to have to hit one of the stations out of the city.” Dwalin announced as he got into the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry about it, though, we’ve done it plenty of times before,” Ori seemed a little more at comfort with that, but Bilbo certainly didn’t.  Stopping was a bad idea, even when necessary, and places where people used to frequent, such as a petrol station, weren’t exactly good places to be. Bilbo’s stomach tightened.

But he had to learn to trust people again (something he hadn’t done in a very long time), so he would keep his mouth shut and try to regain his faith in humanity and others.

They travelled for some time, mostly in silence, save for the chattering of Fili and Kili, probably in a failed attempt to keep the others calm, and by now had passed well through the remainder of the city and out onto less populated land. Dwalin slowed a little, as he and Thorin studied the disused station down the road. They murmured to each other quietly in a language Bilbo didn’t know, frowns on their faces.  Then, all of a sudden, they stopped and Thorin grabbed his gun, slinging it over his shoulder and kicking his door open. He jumped out, boots crunching on the road, and walked to the front of the vehicle.

Dwalin turned in his seat to look back at the others. He was probably only explaining out of sheer courtesy towards Nori, Dori, Ori and himself, because the others already seemed to know what was going on.

“Thorin’s going to go down their first to see if they’re dry or not,” Dwalin explained, “If they’re dry, we’ l roll past and pick him up, but if they’re not we’ll stop and use whatever they’ve got. So just sit tight,” they watched out of the windshield as Thorin disappeared down the road.

“So how many times have you done this?” Dori asked, obviously feeling as apprehensive as Bilbo was.

“Dozens,” Fili replied with ease.

“And how many times have you been attacked while doing it?” Bilbo couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“A few,” Kili gave a small grin. “But we’ve always been ready for them.”

“We are trained for this sort of thing, Bilbo,” Fili scolded playfully, patting the gun on his side. “Just keep your bat near you; hopefully you won’t need to use it just yet.” Bilbo shifted impatiently in his seat, fidgeting.

“We have liftoff,” Dwalin started the vehicle again as he spoke, slowly moving forward.

“Yay or nay?”

“Its’ a yay,” a few of them laughed delightedly at Dwalin’s announcement.

“Most petrol stations around here have been pumped dry.” Balin explained to Ori, who seemed confused at their excitement. “It’s lucky we even hit one that’s got some left,”

Bilbo wasn’t sure about the ‘lucky’ part yet. He’d agree with Balin when they were back on the road, a long way away from here.

They pulled up and the others quickly got into action, jumping out and securing the area. Fili and Kili went to clear out the inside of the station, where they could look for food, and Dwalin and Balin stood guard at the vehicle while Gloin moved to refuel.

He gave a laugh when the fuel began to pump. “Black gold!” he chuckled at Bilbo, who was standing by aimlessly, not sure what to do. “Certainly an investment worth making,” Bilbo watched the machine chug for a while until Fili and Kili came out of the store.

“Anything?”

“A few chocolate bars,” Kili threw one at his Uncle. “But other than that the place is clean. Hell of a mess, though.”

“Welcome to the Apocalypse,” Dwalin stated dryly from his place by the front of the car. “Bofur and Bifur are still checking round the back, but when they get back we can get moving.”

“...and we’re dry,” Gloin set the pump back in its place. “All gone now,”

“Alright, let’s start to-” gunfire cut him off, and Thorin spun towards the sound. Bofur sprinted around the corner, yelling as loud as he could.

“Trolls! The trolls are coming!”

_Trolls._

 

 


	4. Fire

Trolls are the worst kind of living dead. They’re so disfigured from the constant eating of human flesh that they bear no resemblance whatsoever to what they once were. They grow big and bulky, arms thick as tree trunks, eyes dark and beady, they lose all sense of speech and thought, even more so than the Orcs do.

Not exactly the kind of folks you want to invite to the picnic.

Mainly because they’ll end up fucking _devouring_ you.

There was a flurry of activity after Bofur’s words, and by the time Bifur turned the corner as well, weapons were drawn and ready to be fired. Guns were the best option; you couldn’t use a bat when a Troll as attacking you, simply because if a troll got that close to you, you’d be dead before you _could_ use the weapon. So you kept your distance and hoped that if it was riddled with enough bullets, it’d stop its attack.

Trouble is though, Trolls don’t register pain, even if they’re mortally wounded -bleeding to death- they’ll still come for you and tear you to shreds before keeling over and dying themselves.

They have one thing and one thing only on their minds: bloodshed.

There were three of them. Massive, mutilated ex-humans, rushing towards the group, reading to crush anything they could get their hands upon. Bilbo had only seen a Troll once before, just moments before his group was attacked and he was the only person who’d managed to escape with their life intact. And that had only been _one_ Troll. He wans't sure how anyone coudl survive _three_ of them.

If they weren’t taken out quickly they were all going to die. And Bilbo refused to let that happen. Not now, not after he’d only just been able to feel the slightest glimmer of hope. Hell no.

It had to be something _big_. Big enough to devour them whole.

 _Well_ , he thought now, _we are standing in the middle of a petrol station_.

But Gloin had said the fuel pumps were dry.

Well, actually, he’d only said the one _he’d_ used was dry. He never tried the others.

It was worth a shot.

The gunfire started then, and Bilbo watched, frozen, as one of the Trolls swung for Kili and Fili at the door of the shop, smashing in the windows and doors in the process as the boys jumped back. The others charged it, guns blazing, axes swinging and all that, and had it quickly incapacitated, bleeding and twitching on the ground. One down, two to go.

“Gloin!” Bilbo called now.

“What?”

“You smoke, right?”

“Is this really the time?!”

“ _Do you have a lighter_?!”

“Of course I do,”

“Give it to me- I’ve got an idea,” Gloin fumbled through his pocket, slapping the lighter into Bilbo’s palm now, before raising his gun and firing at the second Troll, who was all but on top of Dwalin and Thorin.

The third Troll smashed the end of the van, going after Ori, Nori, and Dori, who were crouching, hiding behind the side. He forced himself to move now, grabbing hold of the pump, dragging it as far as it would go; spraying petrol all over the ground and into the Troll’s face. Which obviously served the confuse and anger the Troll even more, because it pushed the Ri brothers to the side, charging towards Bilbo now. He ducked, sliding under the car, narrowly missing being crushed the by Troll’s massive arm. Nori, who must have been feeling particularly brave, grabbed hold of the petrol pump, spraying it all over the Troll’s back. But the thing didn’t notice this time, instead, it all but pushed the van to the side, nearly rolling it over, and charged Bilbo again.

He flicked the lighter open, lighting it up, and threw it at the monster. As soon as it connected with the Troll’s chest he was alight; and the resulting scream was loud and shrieking, somewhat like a Banshee’s cry. But it wasn’t a cry of pain, Troll’s didn’t feel pain. It was a cry of anger. Its senses were deteriorating as it burnt up, it couldn’t see, and in its disorientation, it ran into the second Troll, knocking it to the ground. They both burned together now, and Thorin called for everyone to rush to the van, where they could make quick their escape. Bilbo didn’t need telling twice. They crammed in the back, Dwalin in the driver’s seat once more, and he started the car, thanking Mahal when it started. The Troll hadn’t done any irreparable damage.

They sped off, the petrol station now lit up like a Christmas tree.

“That was the most foolish thing anyone’s ever done,” Thorin scolded now, directing his glower at Bilbo.

“Aye, but it saved us,” Dwalin said now; glancing quickly in the rear-view mirror as he spoke to look at the station, which was now all but out of sight, save for the flames which were stretching high into the sky. “And I’ve always been fond of the ballsy ideas, anyway.” He gave Bilbo a grin, glancing over his shoulder briefly.

“Bad idea or no it _did_ save us,” Balin said now, running a hand through his hair. “Quick thinking, laddie.”

“Yes,” agreed Gloin, “but now I don’t have a fucking lighter.” Fili and Kili burst into peals of laughter at that, and Bilbo felt himself smiling weakly.

His hands were shaking badly.

“As long as we get out of there alive, I’ve got no problems how bad the idea was,” Kili gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“I’ve never seen a Troll before,” Ori said quietly. “They’re a lot bigger than I thought they’d be.”

“They’re massive fuckers,” Dwalin agreed from the driver’s seat.

“Thankfully we got them all down pretty quick,” Gloin said now. “Usually, people aren’t as lucky.”

“That’s because they usually tear into you before you have time to notice them.” Bilbo said dryly.

“You’ve had run-ins with Trolls before?”

“Just once,” he supposed he could share the story now. “Back when I was with a group of people. There were ten of us; all knew each other from work.”

“What happened?” Fili asked now.

“No one else survived,” the van fell silent. “That was only one, though. I’ve never seen them in a group,”

“They don’t often roam in packs,” Balin informed him now, “A trio is a rare thing.”

“Well, nice to know we witnessed one of nature’s rarer happenings.” Kili stated sarcastically. “I’ll be sure to write it in my wildlife diary.” Balin just rolled his eyes at the boy.

“God, I really need a smoke,” Gloin ran a hand over his face now. “Now that my lighter’s gone, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Quit?” Ori suggested tentatively, causing laughter to erupt throughout the van.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAMF!Bilbo strikes again.


	5. Flat

Stopping at night was not an option. It was too dangerous. So was driving at night, but they had no other option.

So they took turns, each driving for a certain amount of time before switching so the other could get some much needed rest.

Bilbo fell asleep pretty quickly, but was woken many times by idle chatter or a bump on the road. Eventually he just gave up on getting any proper rest, sinking down into his seat and remaining in a half-asleep state for much of the night.

Soon enough, however, the sun rose and streamed through the vehicle, waking the others. And after a quick meal of less than satisfying muesli bars, conversation began to take place in order to root out the uncomfortable silence and constant apprehension.

“What’s Erebor like?”Ori asked now, looking at Dwalin in interest.

“Ah, it’s lovely,”

“It’s _normal_.” Fili said.

“No brain-suckers at all,” Kili added.

“It’s deep in a mountain," Dwlain continued, "surrounded by woodland, so it has good cover.”

“And it’s far away from the cities," Gloin chimed in, "so there are less Orcs-”

“Though we still get the occasional group," Fili interrupted, "but the sentries notice and we snuff them out pretty quick.”

“How many people are there?” Bilbo asked, sitting up properly now.

“Many,” Dwalin replied. “Place is full of refugees. Most of them followed Thrain when the Outbreak started: his military subordinates and their families. Then when it got worse we started sending out men to look for survivors before they were all killed.”

“We didn’t find all that many, though.” Balin added. “Though we’ve been at it for months now,”

“Not even a hundred.” Fili shook his head. “If there are any big groups alive they’re certainly very good at hiding.”

“I suppose you have to be in this sort of world,” Dori said.

“How do you get things like food and water?”

“We ration what we have, and hunt for what's perishable. Think of the good old days of hunting for deer and rabbit.” Bofur gave a grin as he spoke.

“Deer and rabbit for hundreds?” that didn't sound right to him.

“The woods have been good to us so far," Bofur explained, "Thrain’s been trying to figure out a way to increase the breeding of the animals.”

“Like a farm?” Nori asked now.

“Yeah," agreed Gloin, "and occasionally we’re brave enough to raid a supermarket when we’re desperate. Takes a lot of effort, but it’s worth it.”

“Plus we’ve been working on greenhouses to house vegetables and such,” Kili wrinkled his nose. “Even if we do hate vegetables...”

“That was Ma’s idea.” Fili added with a smile.

“Are there very many attacks?” Nori wanted to know.

“Occasionally, But we’re so far out of the city we don’t have to worry about it all that much. Maybe a few times a week...”

That sounded nice, not having to always look over your shoulder.

“How long will we be travelling for?” Bilbo asked, curiosu as to how long they'd be cramped within the confines fo the vehicle.

“If we keep at this pace, a little over a week.” replied Fili.

That didn’t sound so bad.

Ori started to show him how to knit soon after, repressing chuckles as Bilbo accidentally pressed too hardly against the tip of the metal knitting needle.

“These seem far sharper than they should be,” he murmured, his fingers turning red from the constant pressure. “These could double up as weapons.”

“I’m not sure they’re sharp enough for _that_.” Ori replied with a smile, running a finger over the tip of one while Bilbo tried to untangle the mess of wool that was beginning to pool around him. “You’re doing quite well. Nori did terribly when I tried to show _him_.”

“Hey,” Nori said now, frowning at the two of them, “that’s no laughing matter. I almost choked myself on that stupid wool.” Bilbo began to laugh now.

“How do you manage to do _that_?”

“It’s a dangerous activity, knitting.” Nori said now, voice grave, which only lead to more laughter on Bilbo’s side. Nori just pouted.

Ori opened his mouth to speak again, but a loud popping noise flashed through the air and the car jolted slightly. He gave a panicked look at Bilbo when Dwalin started to slow, cursing.

“What is it?” Bilbo asked, feeling the car wobble a little.

“Flat tire, I think.” Dwalin answered. “Don’t panic,” he quickly assured them, turning to look at them in the back seats. “We’ve got a spare. Just an inconvenience, is all.”

The trained soldiers got out first, obviously, to secure the strip of road and get to work as fast as possible. Bilbo, Ori and his brothers stayed at the back of the car, waiting while Dwalin got the jack and set to work.

Ori fiddled nervously with his needles and Bilbo offered him a comforting smile. “We’ll be out of here soon enough,” he promised, more to placate himself than Ori. But it didn’t work for either of them. They both simply remained as nervous and edgy, which it seemed was a good thing. If he had allowed himself to relax, Bilbo might not have noticed the movement in the trees to his right.

“I saw something,” he said immediately, pointing towards the trees. It was a good thing, too, that he decided to announce it; otherwise they would have been almost completely unprepared for what happened next.

A small group of Orcs jumped out, ambushing them, eyes rabid and mouths frothing and bleeding. Fili and Kili immediately set to work, moving in unison with the other as they fought the creatures. If Bilbo had the time to notice, he might have mused about how they moved so fluidly, like two halves of a whole, one brother the shield while the other was the sword. But he did not have time, in fact, he was barely able to duck and miss the mutilated arms that reached for him.

He smacked the Orc in the centre of the face with his cricket bat. It’s heard jerked backwards but it didn’t stop moving, and quickly recovered, coming back for more.

It blocked Bilbo’s next swing, pushing him to the side, and with a strangled roar swept down to bite at Nori.

Ori, eyes wide and hands shaking, thrust his hand up to defend his brother, striking the Orc in the eye with one of his knitting needles. Bilbo winced as the Orc fell backwards, hand clutching at its face in pain.

“What did I say about those things being _fucking_ _sharp_?!” Nori yelled now, pointing at the Orc on the ground, eye bleeding profusely.

The last of the Orcs were killed, and in the aftermath, they all stood, frozen and silent, listening for the sounds of any more.

“We’d better get out of here...” Balin said now, moving backwards slowly. “There may not be any that nearby, but they would have heard that a mile off.” No one argued.

Dwalin climbed in the back with them, needing some rest, while Kili took his place in the driver’s seat.

“Ori,” Fili said now with a grin as they drove along the deserted road littered with abandoned cars. “I didn’t realise you were so deadly.” Ori blushed while the others showered compliments upon him.

Dori didn’t seem impressed when Dwalin gave him a hearty pat on the back, and frankly, neither did Nori.

“We have to find somewhere to stop for the night,” Thorin said now, wrapping a wound up on his arm, which he was quick to assure was _not_ a bite, merely a scratch from a badly angled blow by Bofur's machete. “We all need a proper rest. At least, as much as we can get,”

“Not to mention the bathroom,” Gloin commented now, electing a chuckle from the others.

“Soon as we find a place we’ll stop and Bombur can get started on something to eat.” Thorin continued, face still stoic,brows knitted together in concentration.

“I’ll knock something up,” Bombur said now, obviously going over what food they had left in his mind, “We’ll need to hit somewhere soon, though, for food. Our supplies are running low.”

Although he knew food was important, Bilbo didn’t like the prospect of that. Hitting paces for food was both dangerous and would likely end unprosperously.

But for now he would try to relax as best he could and keep that out of his head. He’d deal with it when they came to it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of BAMF!Ori for you all,


	6. You Scratch My Back I Scratch Yours

They found an old house to stay the night and set to work on securing the house and boarding up the windows. Afterwards, when the sun began to set, they settled in the main room while Bombur worked on getting some food cooked.

While Fili and Kili made a contest on seeing who could spit the furthest across the room, Thorin took his leave and moved into another room, seeming a little unimpressed. Bilbo stayed next to Bombur, watching him prepare the food and tried his best to stay out of the line of fire.

“They’re boys,” Bombur gave a shrug now, noticing Bilbo’s expression, “and they’re bored. They’re going to do gross things.”

“I suppose so...” Bilbo handed him the last of the potatoes. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Bombur laughed at those words. “I guess not.” He said now.

Soon enough the food was ready and thankfully by then the game had been abandoned in the quest for sustenance.

“I’d better take some to Thorin.” Bombur said now, looking from the bowl in his hands to the others. “Be very dangerous to leave unattended food around them, though...”

“I can do it.” Bilbo said, holding out his hands in offering. “I don’t mind. Keep an eye on your food.” Bombur handed it to him, looking amused.

Bilbo left and found Thorin in one of the bedrooms, face twisted into a frown of concentration as he tended to the wound on his arm.

“You should let someone take care of that.” Bilbo said from the doorway, watching him try to wrap his wound in vain. Thorin jerked a little, but relaxed when he found it was only Bilbo.

“I can do it myself,” Thorin replied, curt as he turned his attention back to his arm.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Sure you can, if you want it done badly.” Thorin opened his mouth to argue as Bilbo sat the bowl down on a rotting set of drawers. “You’ve got one arm. You can’t do it properly,” He knelt down to grab at the bandage and wrap it properly around Thorin’s forearm. “There’s nothing wrong in asking for help,” he murmured now.

“I need no help.” But Thorin made no move to stop him.

“You’re sure it’s nothing?” Bilbo asked now. It certainly didn’t _look_ like a bite, but they had to be careful.

“I think I know the difference between a bite and a machete wound.” Thorin replied rather dryly.

Bilbo remembered why he didn’t like people in the first place. “If it were me you would have already shot me and left me on the side of the road because you weren’t sure, so I don’t appreciate the tone.”

Thorin just narrowed his eyes and winced when Bilbo wrapped the bandage a little _too_ tightly. Bilbo hid the small pleased smile that spread across his face at that.

“I meant no offense,” Thorin said now as Bilbo got to his feet.

“Well, we’re forced together in this so maybe you should try and be a little nicer,” he handed him the bowl. “Here’s your food.”

He was almost out of the room when he heard Thorin speak, so quietly he almost missed it.

“That was smart thinking,” Bilbo turned and looked over his shoulder at him in shock. “The move with the petrol pump back at the station.” Thorin paused. “Dangerous,” he added now, “But smart.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say in reply, so he simply gave a small nod. “Thank you,” he replied before turning on his heel and leaving.

The rest of the night was relatively quiet, worryingly so. Bilbo had trouble sleeping, and spent a good few hours tossing and turning, or staring up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds outside, straining in case he heard even the slightest shuffle. But he didn’t, and he slipped off into a fitful sleep, and was woken less than a few hours later by Kili.

“The sun’s going to rise in a few hours, Thorin wants us to get packing and leave before it does.” So he groaned and rolled onto his side, pushing himself up onto his knees and stretching.

His shoulders made a disturbing crackling sound, but he ignored it. That’s what happened, after all, when you slept on the floor ninety-nine percent of the time.

He helped Dwalin drag the bags into the car, which Dwalin laughed about the whole time, mainly because he could simply sling them over his shoulder, but Bilbo had to drag them because they were so heavy. But he didn’t complain, he simply let Dwalin laugh and continued moving the bags, refusing his offers of help. He wasn’t some sort of princess. Certainly, he was smaller than most, but that didn’t make him any less capable.

Gloin rushed up to them as Bilbo set the last bag in the back. “I see a group of Orcs coming from the east. They’re moving fast,” all amusement was wiped from Dwalin’s face.

“They must have smelled us. Get the others; we need to leave- _now_.”Gloin ran inside, calling out to the others, and Dwalin grabbed his weapons, moving down the road a little to get a look at the Orcs that were coming, leaving Bilbo stayed beside the vehicle, unsure of what to do.

He heard it before he saw it, a gruttal, keening noise. He turned, raising his bat, but was knocked to the ground before he could swing it to defend himself.  He cried out, thrashing, and placed a few well-placed kicks. But it grabbed his leg and dragged him with supernatural speed down the road, leaving him scrambling, hands abandoning his bat to claw desperately at the ground in vain. The other Orcs swarmed now, surrounding the car and tearing it inside out in their search for fresh meat. Thankfully, his cries had alerted Dwalin, who was now shooting at them, rushing in his direction. The others burst out of the house, fighting and slashing.

He was thrown to the side now, rolling along the ground still, and the lone Orc jumped on top of him, mouth frothing and sharp teeth trying to sink into his skin. With a loud cry he pressed his torn up hands to the monsters face, pushing at it with all his strength. The Orc gave way just enough for him to slip out from underneath it, scrambling backwards. The foul creature let out a shrieking sound and lunged for him, and in that moment Bilbo felt everything his life had ever amounted to flash before his eyes in an immeasurable moment, and then the Orc was falling blood spurting from its chest.

Bilbo looked from the now-crumpled Orc and then upwards, to meet a pair of ice blue eyes.

Strong hands grasped at his forearms and yanked him to his feet. “Were you bitten?” Thorin demanded.

“No.” He shook his head, curls falling in his face.

“But you’re hurt,” Thorin grabbed his hands now.

“Just scratched,” he glanced down at the grasp, finding that he rather enjoyed the sensation of rough skin against his own. “It’s nothing major.” Thorin let his hands go after a short inspection before turning to the others.

“The bloody truck is beyond repair,” Gloin kicked the side of it. “Even if we could repair it, it’d take too long.”

“We have no other choice.” Thorin replied. “Grab what you can and let’s get out of here.” He turned to leave but Bilbo called out for him.

“Thorin,”

He turned to Bilbo once more. “Yes?” he asked.

“Thank you,” his voice broke as he looked up at Thorin. He could have died. He really could have died. He could have been bitten, or torn apart. And someone had saved him. Someone was looking out for him. It wasn’t something Bilbo was used to.

“Yes, well, you scratch my back I scratch yours, right?”

Still in shock, Bilbo let out a choked laugh. “Right,” he agreed.

 


	7. As Luck Would Have It...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I finally finished this chapter. These past few days I've been opening it and staring at it for a good ten minutes before closing it again, having done nothing.

Bilbo’s feet ached. Not that he’d complain out loud. The state of the rest of the Company was enough to make him keep his mouth shut. After all, what would complaining do?

They’d been walking for hours now, and had probably only covered a tenth of what they would have travelled had they still had the vehicle. Bilbo couldn’t find it in himself to mention that. If anything they needed some good news, not a reiteration of the obvious. Fili and Kili had tried their best to keep the Company’s spirits up, jokes and conversation and a little bit of jostling and jeering, but they’d fallen into a tense silence save an Orc or Troll hear them.

By the end of the day they’d made good time, but not enough. At this rate it’d take months for them to get to Erebor. If they even lasted that long.

“We have to find a car,” Dwalin said that night when they found refuge in an abandoned farmhouse, “or a van. Anything, you know.”

“I know that.” Thorin replied, cleaning his weapons. “We’re just going to have to keep our eyes open and hope when we do find something that it works.”

“And has sufficient petrol.” Dwalin added gruffly.

“We’re screwed.” Gloin groaned, hitting his head against the wall.

“Enough of that,” Balin scolded, though his words were gentle. “We only die when we give up; so long as we’re kicking and screaming there’s the possibility we’ll be fine.”

Gloin just grumbled, and Bilbo kept his eyes on his feet, trying to keep a hold on his ever-fading optimism. Every step they took was one step closer to Erebor, he reminded himself. They just had to keep going.

No one slept that night, or for many nights after, but they trudged on, trampling along roads, hiding in the trees, feeling particularly trigger-happy. It went like that for almost a week, everyone tensed, tired and stressed.

And then, suddenly:  “I think I saw a van!”

The entire Company shot to attention, several days of lethargy and depression all but forgotten.

“Where?” Thorin demanded, pushing past to stand beside Dwalin.

“Over there,” Dwalin pointed the in the distance to a ratty looking house. “I don’t know if it’ll fit us all, though...”

“To hell with that,” Kili announced now, “I’ll even let Bombur sit on my lap if I have to.”

Bombur didn’t appear to be impressed, but a few of the others chuckled.

“Alright, we’ll have a look. But we have to be careful.”

“Obviously,” Kili muttered in reply, rolling his eyes.

“Bombur, Bofur, you two stay with these four,” Thorin gestured to Bilbo, Nori, Dori and Ori. “Wait for us to go and check it out. If it works I’ll send someone back to get you- if not, we’ll come back ourselves.”

“Yes, sir.” Bofur replied, watching as the others set out. “Don’t worry,” he gave Bilbo a friendly wink. “They’ll be right.”

“You think the van will work?” Ori asked now.

“It might. Even if it does, it probably doesn’t have that much fuel, so we’ll have to make another pit stop. But it’ll be quicker and safer than walking all the way.”

Bilbo certainly agreed with that.

They were waiting for a short while, standing tense and looking about them. Even the slightest sound set them off, weapons raised, but nothing jumped out at them, and soon Dwalin was coming back over.

“It’s in alright condition, but we’re lacking in the petrol category.”

“Told you,” Bofur leaned over to mutter to Bilbo.

“But we’re going to take it anyway, right?” Ori asked, looking up at him the way a child might gaze at an idol.

“Right,” Dwalin assured him, giving a small, comforting smile. Bofur snickered and Dori gave Dwalin a look that could have doused a raging fire. Not that it seemed to be doing anything to deter Dwalin.

“Alright, let’s get back over there.” Dwalin jerked his head in the direction of the van and they began to make their way over.

“Where’s the nearest petrol station?” Thorin was asking, leaning heavily on the bonnet of the van. Kili had a map spread out before them.

“We have a few options,” Fili was pointing to something in the middle. “We’re right outside of Grimsby, so there are a few stations around here, but our closest one is on the outskirts of the village. If that’s tapped out we have enough petrol to get us further up north to Ripon, and we can try there.”

“What of Leeds?” Gloin asked, fingers running over a cigarette he couldn’t light. “They have a greater number of petrol stations there, we might have more luck.”

“We aren’t looking for survivors,” Thorin informed him, “so it seems an unnecessary risk. There are too many Orcs in the cities. We’ll pass by it.”

“You’ve searched Leeds before?” Bilbo asked now.

“Yes,” Fili told him. “We worked our way down from Glasgow after working our way through most of the Highlands.”

“You don’t often find many survivors in the cities.” Gloin added. “Those who lived were smart enough to get to the smaller towns, where the population was smaller.” He paused, glancing at Bilbo. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” Bilbo assured him. “Erebor is in Scotland, then?”

It had only just crossed his mind that he had no clue as to what direction they were going in.

“Yes.” Gloin moved closer, ignoring the conversation between Thorin and his nephews now. “A little bit near Aviemore.” Bilbo had no idea where that was, but he nodded politely anyway. “Alright,” Gloin clapped his hands together now, glancing over at Dwalin. “I suppose while they’re chatting we’ll get everyone packed snug into the van, then.”

They made their way to the back where Dwalin pulled open the rusted, squeaky back doors.

“Go on, then,” he waved a hand at them to move. “Get a move on.”

“This seems a bit unreliable.” Dori said now, looking uncomfortable as he crawled inside.

“Better than walking for another week,” Nori replied.

Bilbo repressed a smile when Dwalin helped Ori inside, and followed quickly, squeezing in beside him and Gloin, who was muttering about not being able to handle this shit when he hadn’t had a cigarette in days now.

“You could try lighting it with two rocks.”Kili declared now, appearing with a smile at the back doors of the van. “The good old Caveman way.”

“Shut your face,” Gloin snapped back, and Kili laughed, climbing inside. Balin took one look at the group pin the back and rolled his eyes. “Good luck fitting Bombur in here,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking around the front of the van. “I call shotgun.”

Somehow they managed to get Bombur and Bifur inside, Bofur muttering dangerously as he forced himself in as well, shutting the doors to the van.

“What about Fili?” Kili asked now, concern evident in his voice.

“I’m sharing the front seats with Uncle, Balin and Dwalin,” came the reply from the front. “I’m not even going to bother trying to get in there with you lot.”

“Good luck in there for the next few hours.” Dwalin laughed.

Gloin swore. “That’s if we don’t kill each other first,” he declared now.

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, and found that he had to agree with Gloin on that one.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erebor soon!


	8. Erebor

They made it to Stirling before the van spluttered and bombed out pathetically, leaving them once again without transport. Which had seemed ridiculous, as Erebor was no more than a three hour drive away. But six hours travel was good enough, and Thorin assured them it would be only two days on foot.

Bilbo was sure he had never felt so happy about anything in his life, and when Fili and Kili began pointing out different landmarks they recognised, Bilbo let himself openly smile.

He started feeling jittery with excitement as each moment passed as they made their way through the trees, always on their guard, until eventually Erebor came into sight.

He saw the walls first: tall and stretching, made of heavy rock, barbed wire at the top. It looked sort of like a prison.

“Wow,” Ori breathed, craning his neck to look up at them.

“Impressive, huh?” Kili said with a grin. “Just wait ‘til you get inside.” There must have been guards at the top of the wall, because soon they were calling out, waving down, and Bilbo could hear chatter on the other side of the wall, people gathering.

The sounds of civilisation set Bilbo’s heart alight, and he eagerly followed the others to the front gates.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting, but when the doors swung open he was certainly surprised.

It looked like something from a low budget medieval film. There were a lot of carts, and people rushing about through markets, and animals. Somewhere far away he could hear cows mooing and chickens clucking.

“You okay Ori?”

Ori’s lips slowly stretched into a wide smile, the biggest Bilbo had ever seen. “We’re not dead!” he cried at Bilbo, who laughed in return.

“No. No, we’re not.” And they really weren’t. They were actually here. _In Erebor_. They’d made it in one piece.

And thank God for that.

 

* * *

 

The food must have been the best part. Or maybe the fact that there were beds waiting for them. Or maybe the noise of people and animals, or the sound of laughter. In fact, Bilbo quickly decided that each and every part was tremendously wonderful. For someone who had hated civilisation when it was a common thing, he was certainly enjoying the company of people. Never again would he take advantage of such a thing.

After being well fed and fettered, they were showed to the bath house, where there was actual hot water. _Hot water_.  Bilbo had laughed deliriously when the hot water had sprayed over his skin.

Afterwards he collapsed onto a bed, watching with a grin as Ori jumped on his own across the room, laughing and singing with Nori. Dori just sat on his own bed, looking on with amusement.

Bilbo closed his eyes and thought about how odd the sounds of merriment were. Not something he was used to hearing, certainly, but at one point in time they had been a completely normal thing to overhear. He smiled, feeling a peace he hadn’t felt in a very long time settle over him.

 

* * *

 

“Only four?” Thrain asked, head in his hands. “London had such a high populous. I was sure that...” he pressed his hands harder into his face. “The lack of survivors is depressing.”

“But we saved four.” Thorin insisted now. “That’s four people who might be dead if not for our help.”

Thrain looked up at his son, raising an eyebrow. “You seem rather optimistic. It’s a strange trait to see on one usually so stoic.” Thorin cleared his throat, face twisting into something uncomfortable.

“I’ve been assured by our men that any life saved is something to celebrate.” He explained, though Thrain didn’t believe it.

“Well, how shocking it is when a man changes his tune,” he commented wryly with a knowing smile. “I am glad you had little trouble, though the destruction of our artillery vehicle is another slight issue that has me perturbed.”

“Frerin has not made any progress fixing the other one?”

“Not much, no. But he has been working without rest for many days now, so I cannot find it in me to crack the whip any harder.”

Thorin nodded in understanding. “I am led to believe that one of the men we have saved has some knowledge with cars- in fact, he used to steal them quite frequently, so perhaps he can help.”

“Any other useful skills they posess?”

“The youngest one seems very good with knitting and sewing. He would be useful in helping the people repair their clothing, I understand we’re lacking in that area.”

Thrain gave a chuckle. “We are,” he agreed. “Many people have chosen guns as their weapon of choice, not needles. But he seems useful nonetheless. Anything else?”

“The third brother, Dori, has some knowledge in herbs. I believe Oin may like to talk to him about that.”

“And the fourth?”

Thrain watched as Thorin paused. “He has very good tactical skills, though doesn’t know how to fight very well. He is small, and rather weak, but he is a strategic thinker- he could be useful to you.”

“Strategic thinkers are so hard to come by.” Thrain smiled now.  “I would like to meet the new survivors.” He informed his eldest son. “Tomorrow, of course, I’m sure they’re in need of sleep.”

Thorin nodded once more.

“You should go see your siblings now.” Thrain continued. “They’ve been waiting eagerly for your return. Your trip has been a long one, and I’m sure you’re in need of some rest yourself.”

“Thank you,” Thorin made move to leave.

“Oh, and Thorin,” Thrain called after him, and he paused at the door, looking over his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back in one peace.” Thorin gave him a small smile.

“As am I.” He agreed before leaving.

Thrain sat at his desk, tapping his pen against the hardwood. “Interesting,” he murmured to himself before going back to his work.

 

 

 


	9. An Outing

There were two Orc groups that came close to Erebor in the first week they spent there. It was strange to see so little of them, but Bilbo couldn’t find it in himself to relax completely. He’d learnt that if you let your guard down even the littlest it’d be then you’d be completely screwed.

He’d met Thrain, the apparent leader of the group, and Thorin’s father, along with his brother and sister, Frerin and Dis. They were much like Thorin both in temperament and in looks: all stoic and dark. At least... Dis was.

They were kind though, for which Bilbo was grateful. In fact, most of the people in Erebor were kind. Probably because they understood what they had been through: they could relate.

Bilbo had spent much of his time with Dori and Oin, one of the only Doctors who had survived, talking of salves and medical plants. And when he was not with them he was speaking with some of the others about helping plant new harvests, having been a very keen gardener when things weren’t... well, when things weren’t so bad.

It was strange, settling into a relative sense of normality, and Bilbo still wasn’t used to it- but he knew that would take a very long time. One day he may stop having nightmares, but that was not going to be today.

He’d woken with a start that morning, in a cold sweat, chest heaving. Ori sat up in his bed, looking at him blearily, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m fine, Ori.” Bilbo insisted, running a hand through his damp hair. “Just a nightmare, it’s nothing.”

Ori didn’t look convinced, but seemed to be too tired to say anything else on the matter. He flopped back down on the bed, falling asleep and snoring straight away, leaving Bilbo to sit up by himself, staring at the watery light that began to filter through the room.

He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed, getting to his feet. He might as well get some breakfast while he was up, because he very much doubted he’d be able to get back to sleep.

So he pulled on some clothes and trailed towards the food hall, yawning into his hand. He was still so very tired, so much so that he hadn’t noticed the hulking figure in front of him until he ran into his back.

“Oh,” he stumbled backwards, putting a hand out, and glanced up to see who it was he’d run into. “Thorin, sorry- haven’t really slept,” he explained, shaking his head.

“You look like you could use a coffee.”

“God, yes.”

Thorin gestured for him to continue walking. “I was on my way there anyway.”

“You’re up a little early, aren’t you?”

“I have to be,” he replied simply. “Going on a little trip.”

“Trip?” Bilbo asked as they entered the food hall.

“Frerin fixed one of the last vehicles.” Thorin explained. “We’re going to hit a supermarket.”

Bilbo spoke before realising. “Can I come?”

Thorin stopped walking and looked at him. “You want to come?”

“Well... I suppose I feel a bit useless here. And I can help. I used to search a few of the supermarkets back in London.”

“Ever get ambushed?”

“Only once. I shouldn’t have gone into Tesco’s though- it always was pretty crap.”

Thorin chuckled. “I’ll have a word with Thrain about it. _After_ you eat.” He pushed Bilbo towards one of the tables.

“I suppose I should try to get something down.” So they got their food and sat together, eating mostly in silence.

“Having nightmares?” Thorin asked eventually, finishing off his coffee.

“Yeah,” Bilbo sighed. “Not much you can do about it, though, right?”

“No, not really. You just need to find something to distract you.”

“Maybe I should knit a jumper. Or a pair of socks. Or maybe I could knit a pair of warmers for Dwalin’s axes.”

Thorin chuckled. “He might enjoy that. But I think Ori might be a little upset you beat him to it.”

“You noticed that too, huh?” Bilbo asked.

“I think everyone did.”

“I suppose it is a little obvious.” He rolled his eyes now. “They’re just oblivious to it. I don’t see how,” he continued, “it’s so evident they should know.”

“People rarely see things right in front of their noses.” Thorin replied simply. “It annoys the hell out of everyone else, but you can’t really help it.”

“What they need is a slap across the back of the head.” Bilbo stated.

“You’d better get in line. There’s a great deal of people waiting for that, I think.”

They finished their food and Thorin went to talk to Thrain about bringing Bilbo along, leaving him to find Gloin, who was enjoying a cigarette near the gates.

“Look who it is,” he crushed Bilbo’s hand in his own, “been a little while since I seen you last.”

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, “and it seems you finally got another lighter.”

“Yeah, but it’s running low.” He lifted it to his ear and shook it. “Hopefully I’ll find one today. You coming along, short stuff?”

“Thorin’s seeing if I can.”

“Good. You’ll be useful, even if you are the size of a child.”

“Hey now,” he objected as Gloin chortled, “I’m not that short.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved Bilbo’s protests off.

Thorin found them soon after to say he was allowed to come with them, so long as he listened emphatically to everything Thorin said. Bilbo, of course, accepted the terms, and grabbed his cricket bat, ready to go with them.

There weren’t as many of them this time. Just Gloin, Dwalin, Thorin, Frerin, himself and Dwalin.

Bilbo hadn’t spoken to Frerin too much since he’d arrived, but he seemed like an amiable sort of chap. A lot like Fili and Kili: pleasant, joking, always grinning, and very friendly.

He chatted to Bilbo about his life before the Outbreak, about what the rest of the Durin’s were like, about his annoying older brother (Thorin, obviously), and his sarcastic older sister (Dis). In fact, he was so entertaining, the hours passed quickly and they reached the outskirts of the town they were going to hit.

“Alright,” Thorin said as they walked towards the Frerin’s going to hotwire one of the cars out the front, cause a distraction, we’ll go in the back once it’s clear and get in and out. Ten minutes is the most time we can spend in there.”

“Hey look,” Gloin pointed down the road. “They’ve got a bowling club.”

“Well, I doubt it’s open, Gloin.” Dwalin replied now. “And if it is it’s probably being run by Orcs. Not the best people to team up with when you’re playing bowling.”

“Nah,” Frerin added, “they cheat.” Gloin let out a choking laugh. “You know, there’s a golf course here.” Frerin continued now. “I always wanted to get into golf. Never got the chance.”

“Maybe you should start practicing with Orc heads.” Gloin told him, nudging him forwards. “But do it later, _after_ you’ve caused a distraction.”

“It’s quite a nice place.” Bilbo said now, glancing at the houses, now falling apart. “It must have looked nice before it was ravaged.”

“A lot of towns looked nice before they were ravaged.” Thorin replied stiffly, and Bilbo rolled his eyes, sharing an annoyed look with Gloin. He was in stoic mode. It seemed to be his default setting when they were on an outing.

Bilbo watched as Frerin quickly broke into a car parked out the front, disappearing into it. “What kind of a distraction is he making?” he wondered. He got an answer, but not from any of them. His answer came in the form of incredibly loud dance music blasting from the speakers of the car. He jumped.

“Jesus.”

Frerin climbed from the car now, bolting in their direction, and he skidded to a stop as he spun round the corner, almost knocking Bilbo over.

“Watch it,” Gloin hissed when he accidentally stood on his foot. They watched as the noise began to attract attention.

“Alright,” Thorin started to move. “Keep quiet.” They followed him along the wall and around the back of the supermarket, checking to make sure the coast was clear before going through the loading bay.

The supermarket was deadly dark and quiet, and they crept forward, checking the aisles to make sure they’d have no unexpected surprises.

“Clear,” Gloin informed them, peering around from the last aisle.

Frerin relaxed, but Thorin did not. “Alright, we’ll split into two- get moving.” Thorin and Dwalin were off immediately, leaving Gloin, Frerin and Bilbo to stand on their own.

“I feel like the loser kid no one picks for their dodge ball team.” He said now.

“Join the club.” Bilbo told him, turning and choosing an aisle to walk down. “Oh great,” he said now, smiling. Matches and lighters. _Perfect_. “Hey Gloin,” he grabbed a handful, “found your lighter.” He threw one at him.

“Ahahaha!” he lifted it up triumphantly. “Now if I can find some cigarettes I can sell them to the others back at camp.”

“You won’t need any yourself?” Bilbo asked, decided to take a few lighters himself, just in case.

“I grow my own,” he informed him, lighting a cigarette now. “Roll them myself.”

“And it is just tobacco, right?” Bilbo wondered. Gloin just gave him a wink.

“Remember,” he heard Thorin call at them over the aisle, “take only what we need.”

They slipped their bags off, opening them up and filling them with whatever was left in the aisles. Bilbo thought he was doing rather well for himself. Along with the matches he’d found some bottles of water, a few chocolate bars (which were obviously necessary to have) and was looking at the hair products now, considering whether shampoo was important. Soap, obviously. But shampoo? He chuckled now, picking up the hairspray. He remembered Frerin saying something about how Fili used to use bottles of it when he was younger, before the Orcs had come along.  He was going to set it back down when a yell caught his attention, and the sound of boxes tumbling onto the floor.

He rushed down the aisle, turning into the next one to find a rather severe looking Orc throwing Thorin to the ground. Dwalin swung at him, but it grabbed his wrist, twisting in an unnatural way, eliciting a horrible snapping noise. Dwalin cried out in pain, dropping the axe and staggering backwards. Bilbo glanced down at himself. He had a can of hairspray.

 _Oh yes_ , he scolded himself now, _that’s really useful._

But actually... He rifled through his pockets, finding one of the lighters he’d picked up earlier, and ran towards the creature, yelling to get its attention.

It turned, snarling at him, and began to rush him. He popped the lid off the spray and lifted it up, flicking open the lighter and spraying. The fire hit the Orc in the face, making it scream inhumanly, loud and shrill, running into the shelves and knocking things over. Bilbo rushed past the disorientated Orc now, dropping to his knees in front of Thorin, who was bleeding from the head.

“Get up!” he grabbed hold of his arm, trying to pull him to his feet (which was a failing effort, he had to say, because Thorin was significantly larger than he was). Somehow, he managed to get him to his feet, dragging him towards the others.

“The bags!” he went to turn, but Dwain waved him on.

“I’ve got it.”

“But you’re wrist-” he argued.

“I’ve got it.” He insisted, cutting Bilbo off. “Just get him out of here.”

Frerin helped him carry Thorin out the back, and down the road back to where the car was. They threw in what bags they had, waiting for Dwalin. Bilbo got Thorin in the passenger seat, slapping his face lightly.

“Hey, wake up, Fearless Leader.” Thorin groaned, eyes opening slightly. “Come on. You have to tell me if you’re hurt anywhere else.” He began a quick inspection of Thorin’s body, feeling for broken bones or wounds underneath his jacket and long his arms and legs. Thorin jolted when he touched his thigh.

“Oh, get over it.” Bilbo muttered. “It’s not like I’m going to take advantage of you in your weakened state.”

Frerin laughed. “I think he likes being frisked.” He told Bilbo.

“Do not.” Thorin managed, his eyes drooping closed again.

“Hey Bilbo, can you drive? Only, I’m not very good with these vehicles and Dwalin’s broken his arm.”

“What about Gloin?”

“Never let Gloin drive.” Frerin said now. “Never. Let. Gloin. Drive.”

"He's right there." Gloin agreed. "Never let me drive"

“Oh, okay. But I'll need navigating...” Bilbo closed the passenger side door, climbing into the driver’s seat and started the vehicle. “Do you see him yet?”

“Here he comes, hero of the day!” Dwalin struggled into the back, closing the doors.

“Go, go.” He urged, dropped the bags and cradling his hand to his chest.

Bilbo didn’t need any more prodding.

 

 

 


	10. Adventure, Journey, Thing.

Thorin woke up properly when they were about half an hour from Erebor, and Gloin quickly went to sleep, letting him take over navigating. It seemed the day had taken it out of everyone, because Frerin was snoring on Dwalin’s shoulder, who was fast asleep beside him, hand still cradled to his chest.

There wasn’t much speaking save for the occasional ‘turn left here’, so when Thorin finally _had_ spoken, it had come as a surprise to Bilbo.

“Quick thinking with the hairspray.” The words were spoken so suddenly and so gruffly that Bilbo was sure he’d misheard them.

“Yes,” he managed eventually, clearing his throat, “well, I’ve always been a quick thinker under pressure.”

“I can see that.”

“How’s your head?” Bilbo asked him now.

“Sore.” Thorin winced as he touched the back of it now. “But I’ll get over it.”

“You were thrown pretty hard onto the ground.”

“My fault for getting distracted.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I found bandages and other medical supplies.”

“Too busy celebrating, huh?”

Thorin chuckled. “Something like that.”

“Well, I think it went okay.” Bilbo mused now, glancing over his shoulder briefly to look at the others. “Even with a few injuries.”

“Why? You find something good?”

Bilbo shrugged, then smiled a little. “I found chocolate.”

“Ah, very important,” he teased.

“Well, consider it a morale booster.”

Thorin considered it for a moment. “I’m sure some of the others will agree with you on that.”

They fell into an amiable silence, Thorin directing him for the last leg of the journey. When they finally arrived back at Erebor, they unloaded the bags and handed Dwalin over to the medics, although Thorin stubbornly refused to go and see anyone about his head.

“You could be concussed.” Bilbo argued.

“I’ve had worse.” Thorin replied stiffly. “I just need a drink.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.” He muttered, watching him go.

“Ah, just leave him.” Gloin said, chortling. “It’s the usual Durin charm kicking in.”

“Hey now,” Frerin threw an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. “I resent that. But never mind- let’s get a drink of our own.”

That certainly sounded like a good idea to him.

 

* * *

 

The next few days passed rather silently, save for Dwalin loudly complaining about his wrist and Ori fretting over him like some sort of nursemaid, much to the amusement of everyone else.

Bilbo spent a fair amount of time with Thrain, talking about tactics and rations for food. He’d always been quite good with numbers.

He’d spent more time with Frerin as well, much to the annoyance of Thorin, it seemed. Frerin showed him how to fix an engine (or, at least, he tried and failed miserably), and Bilbo taught him how to plant and care for carrots. Not that Frerin had been too interested in the gardening side of things, more just the entertainment to be found in the throwing of dirt.

And speaking of Thorin, he did see him a good deal more than he had before. Often in the food halls, where they would sit and eat together, though they didn’t speak much. He even took time out to show Bilbo how to defend himself properly not only with weapons, but in hand-to-hand combat as well. The lessons were exhausting and painful, but Bilbo found he enjoyed them. Bilbo decided Thorin wasn’t such a bad guy once you got to know him. In fact, he rather fancied them friends now.

But as quiet as things were, he knew they would not stay so for long. And his assumptions were proven correct not a week later.

He found the others hurrying about, stuffing their bags with supplies, looking rushed.

“What’s happened?” Bilbo asked them now.

“There’s been a distress call from the Iron Hills.” Fili explained.

“The Iron Hills?” he wondered. He’d never heard of the Iron Hills before.

“They’re in Wales,” Dwalin told him, “more commonly known as Glyder Fawr. It’s another safe haven, manned by another faction that managed to survive- led by Thrain’s cousins. We’ve had radio contact with them since the Outbreak.”

“And they’re in trouble?”

“Apparently. We’re going to go check it out.” Gloin gave him a grin. “You feel like going on another adventure?”

“Well,” Kili corrected now, “it’s more of a Journey, but you get the point.”

Bilbo smiled. “You bet I do.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose Glyder Fawr because they looked similar to how I pictured the Iron Hills (I’m hoping this picture comes up, because I have little to no idea how to work HTML).  
> 


	11. Glyder Fawr

Glyder Fawr was smouldering when they arrived, but still in one piece. Bilbo stared in awe at the high, sharp rocks, naturally forming a rock-solid barricade.

The stronghold was buried under miles of rock, tunnelled out. Bilbo wondered if it was used as a mine before it’s conversion to a fortress for survivors of the Outbreak.

A weary looking blood covered man greeted them, giving Thorin a bone-crushing hug that was, of course, both sweet and entirely manly. “You bought supplies?” he asked as he pulled back.

Thorin gave a nod.“All we could get.”

“Good. We need it.” They began to walk once more, through the labyrinth of passageways where people lined the walls, bleeding, coughing, shivering.

“Have they all been-”

“Checked? Yes. These haven’t been bitten, just injured.”

“But some _have_ been bitten?” Bilbo asked now. The man turned to look at him over his shoulder.

“Yes,” he answered grimly. “There were about thirty.”

“Thirty?” Dwalin echoed, running a hand over his face. “Christ.”

“We gave them the option to leave, but many didn’t like the idea of turning into those... things.”

“So what happened to them?” Kili asked the question as if he already knew the answer.

“We shot and burned them, just down the rocks a bit. Thought it’d be proper to give them some sort of closure. As much as we could offer, anyhow.” He glanced at Bilbo again. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” He came to an abrupt stop and offered his hand. “Dain.”

Bilbo’s hand was engulfed in the calloused palm. “Bilbo.”

“You’re a little small to be fighting Orcs, aren’t you?”

“He’s actually rather good at it.” Dwalin admitted, giving a shrug.

Dain gave him a considering look. “Well, I suppose someone your size could o relatively unnoticed.”

Thorin snorted. “Not when he has a habit of setting Orcs on fire.”

Dain let out a booming laugh that trailed off into unhealthy sounding snorts. “Set ‘em on fire, eh?” he gave Bilbo a hard pat on the back, which could have possibly bruised him. “I think you and I might get along.”

“Dain likes to set things on fire, too.” Fili explained, grinning as his mother’s cousin rolled his eyes. “I remember before the Outbreak,” he continued, Kili joining in on his cackling as if he knew the story his brother was about to tell, “and the computer started smoking and Mum was just screaming at him to turn it off and he turned to her and said that the computer was _supposed_ to be smoking.”

Dain threw a glare at the boys. “If you want embarrassing stories told, I could say a few myself.” The pointed look was directed at Kili, who stopped laughing immediately.

Fili just heaved a sigh, his story totally gone to waste.

“Why don’t you lot just go settle in. We’ll be going on patrol tomorrow, so you’d better be well rested.”

“Can’t we have food first?”

“Does this look like a bloody canteen?” Dain waved a hand about the place. “We’re only just setting up generators. Its muesli bars for you lot tonight.”

They went off, pouting like puppies. Bilbo thought he could hear Kili muttering. “Wish we’d bought Bombur.”

“Ah, they’ll get used to it.” Dain waved it off. “If we can do it, they can too.”

“Is it okay if I smoke here?” Gloin was pulling a handful of lighters out of his pocket. He rifled through them, picking a bright red one.

“You’d best go down a bit- towards the edge. Some of the people don’t like it. I know, I know,” he put his hands up when Gloin protested, “it’s the end of the world and people are still complaining about smoke, but I’d like to keep the peace for now. Just be careful on the edge,” Dain called after him as he turned on his heel, “sometimes we get a few straggler Orcs coming a little too near.”

Gloin gave a grunt in reply.

“Right, any of you fancy a drink.” Dain clapped his hands together. “We found a carton of cider two days ago- it’s been pretty good for morale.”

“I’ll take some of hat off your hands,” Dwalin grinned in reply. Dain turned to Thorin.

“No,” Thorin heaved a sigh. “I think I might sleep. It’s been a long trip.”

“You do look like shit.” Dain replied with a nod, grinning when Thorin frowned.

“Why, thank you, dear cousin.” He retorted dryly. “I’ll be off.”

“Oh, do you mind showing me where to go? I don’t really fancy a drink, and I haven’t been here before, obviously...”

Thorin gave a nod. “This way.”

He trailed along, finding it hard to keep up with Thorin’s long strides,

“The Iron Hills seem a lot less... clean than Erebor.”

“We’re lucky over there. Not many of these places have walls around them. But the narrow passages help, and guards can easily block them if Orcs are near.”

“But wouldn’t that hinder them, as well? Only one way, in and out? If one of the people here were to get infected...”

“Then most would die.” Thorin agreed. “Some strengths are weaknesses as well. They have magnificent doctors here, though, and almost anyone can spot the symptoms of an infection. Any possible outbreaks are stemmed quite quickly.”

“It must be hard,” Bilbo said now, “being responsible for so many lives.” And he wasn’t just talking about Dain.

Thorin gave a shrug. “Most of us were doing it before the Outbreak anyway.”

“But it still must be hard. In charge of hundreds of people’s wellbeing. That’s a lot of pressure on one person’s shoulders.”

“Dain is alright. He has the rest of us- the Durin’s always stick together.”

“Dain is an Ironfoot.” Bilbo corrected with a wry smile.

“He’s still family. The motto applies to him.”

“Of course. I was just teasing you.”

Thorin frowned down at him. “I don’t usually get teased.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed now. “I see Dis and Frerin making fun of you all the time.”

Thorin’s mouth fumbled up into a small smile. “Let me rephrase that- I don’t usually get teased by people who _aren’t_ my family.”

Bilbo hummed, thinking about that. “Then you’d just better get used to it.” He answered eventually. “I am far too old to be changing my ways.”

Thorin chuckled. “You’re not that old.”

“I’m old enough.” He paused, wondering if his next words would ruin the cheerful mood. “And I feel much older than I am.”

“We all do, I think.” He came to a stop in front of a hollowed out area in the wall. “This is it.”

“This?” Bilbo peered inside. “I suppose I wasn’t expecting much.”

“It’s got a door...” Thorin waved at the chunk of wood that could be moved to cover the gaping hole. “Well... kind of.”

“Well, it’s certainly... _cosy_.”

Thorin snorted. “I’d better leave you to it, then.”

“Right, yes.”

“You’ll need your sleep, like Dain said- we’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

Thorin said his goodbyes and left him to his own devices and Bilbo heaved a sigh and looked about his makeshift bedroom. It was going to be a long night.

 

 

 

 


	12. A Tumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are any errors!

Bilbo didn’t sleep all that well that night. It was like he was alone again, hiding in some godforsaken hole in the ground, sitting in the dark. He had to remind himself on more than one occasion that those memories were just that- memories. There were others, other survivors. And he wasn’t alone.

It was dark when Dwalin came to fetch him for the patrol. He dressed in the dark and staggered after Dwalin through the passageways, pushing his hair out of his face.

Fili and Kili were waiting for them in front of their own room, looking sleepy, but content enough. They probably slept better than Bilbo had, being used to Glyder Fwar. Together they made their way to the lip of the passageways, where the entrance was.

Dain and Thorin were there, looking more bright eyed and bushy tailed than the rest of them. It seemed hunting Orc kept the Durin’s refreshed.

Soon enough they were climbing over rocks, weapons in their hands, chasing and killing any straggler Orcs who were close enough to be a possible threat.

Bilbo wasn’t quite sure why he’d been invited along. After all, he didn’t have nearly as much experience as the rest of them. He was an amateur and they were all pro’s.  Not that he wanted to be a professional. No, he was quite alright with being a novice.

Behind him, Fili and Kili were throwing rocks at each other.

“Oi,” Dwalin barked, “pay attention, you two, you widen a gap between you lot and us, and something could get in-between.”

Kili had the grace to look guilty, like a puppy, but Fili just rolled his eyes and shook the pebbles out from under his shirt where they had fallen. Bilbo smiled at them a little. It was nice to see them behaving like children. Because they were. Well, they were technically adults, but very young ones.

They moved back up behind Bilbo again, where they were supposed to be, but quickly fell behind once more, pushing at each other and swinging their weapons when the road became too narrow for pushing. “Don’t want to go over the ledge!” Kili had called playfully, climbing over some rocks to his right.

Dwalin heaved a sigh once more, turning to shout at them again. “I said-” He cut off with a choking sound, his eyes caught sight of something, and he made move to yell, but the movement came first, from behind the rocks, and Bilbo spun, feeling something heavy slam down onto him. “Orcs!” he heard Dwalin yell.

But Fili and Kili were too far away, and weren’t able to cover Bilbo’s back, and he was hit again, lurched sideways, and slipped over the edge, taking three of the Orcs along with him.

It happened quickly, the crumble of dirt, then nothing underneath his feet at all. The felling of air whipping quickly past his face and then his body slammed heavily into the water, and it engulfed him and swallowed him up. He felt his feet touch the river bank, grazing against pebbles and stones, and then he bounced back upwards, head bursting through the waves. He flailed hopelessly, arms grasping at nothing as he was dragged downstream by the current. He looked up at the ledge he’d fallen from but it didn’t look like the right spot, and he couldn’t see the others.

He was dragged underwater once more and something sharp hit his side, a rock, maybe. He gasped in pain, sucking in water, and began to choke. He thrashed, somehow making his way back to the surface again, and clawed and fought until he reached the side of the river where he collapsed onto the ground, gasping and coughing out water.

When he looked up again, the sun was in the middle of the sky and he could hear nothing. He could hear the rushing of the rapids, yes, a bird cawing somewhere in the distance, of course. But he could hear no sign of people, and no sign of Orc. He was alone again.

And that prospect was utterly frightening to him.

 

* * *

 

There wasn’t much to go by when trying to navigate back to the Iron Hills. Bilbo was alright at the best of times with navigating, but all he could see right now were rocks and trees and a river. Then again, he was soaked to the bone and probably in a great amount of danger. He followed the river, trying to find some way to get back up onto the cliff he’d been on originally, but as the sun slowly faded away, he was beginning to feel desperate.

“Just keep calm,” he murmured to himself. “You’ll find your way back- you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine.”

He kept walking, on and on, even when the sun got so far beyond the horizon that he could barely see his hands in front of him. He tripped over rocks and branches and even himself, but he kept on moving. Stopping would be the death of him, especially out here. A few times he thought he saw lights, but he was mistaken, and ended up chastising himself because any lights in the Iron Hills wouldn’t be visible from the outside- they were all underground. Safe and relatively warm. God, he would kill for a blanket right about now. Or a towel, or... something. And speaking of killing, he had no weapons.  He’d lost them all when he went over. He ran a hand over his face, feeling ragged and worn.

_Great._

So he was stuck in the middle of God knows where, without any weapons, freezing cold and completely wet from almost drowning and it was now officially nightfall. Bilbo had to admit that things didn’t seem to be tallying in his favour right now.

That was when he heard it. Crunching. Heavy feet against rocks. His breath caught in his throat. “Please, not more Orcs,” he whispered to himself, creeping behind a tree and hoping it would be enough to hide him. Unlike humans, Orcs and Trolls had uncanny eyesight in the night. That’s why running was your best option. But Bilbo couldn’t run... he could get even more lost than he already was. Not to mention he’d probably injure himself greatly, running into a tree or something. But instead of an Orc or a troll, he saw a shadow, much more regular sized, slowly moving at the River’s edge.

He peered a little closer. “Thorin?” His voice was hushed. The figure whipped around.

“Bilbo?”

“Oh!” Bilbo ran to him, all but throwing himself at him. “Thank God!” They hugged fiercely, a strangely intimate thing to share, as Bilbo didn’t often see Thorin hug anyway, but it was nice nonetheless. He felt elated.

“Are you alright?” Thorin demanded, still not releasing him. “Have you been bitten? Have you been hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Bilbo pulled back now, “I was hoping I was close by, you would not believe-” but his words were cut off by something even more shocking. The pressure of rough lips pressing against his own. It was a desperate kiss, teeth clanking and lips sliding over one another somewhat awkwardly.

Frankly it had been the last thing Bilbo was expecting. He’d been under the impression that it would have been more likely for him to get a snog out of the Queen before he ever get one from _Thorin_.

There was that familiar keening noise coming from somewhere in the distance that broke them apart. “We’d better get moving. I’d hate for the both of us to get lost out here.” Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s arm as he spoke, leading the way back to the opening of the Iron Hills.

He felt relieved when he saw those large, towering stacks of stone, when he saw other people. But he felt something heavy drop away when his eyes landed on the familiar faces of his friends.

“Bilbo!” Kili called, elated. He pushed from the wall and crushed Bilbo in a hug, much similar to his Uncles. Though it was not followed by a kiss of any sort, for which Bilbo was thankful. He’d had quite enough kissing... for now, anyway.

“Do you mind if I miss the next patrol?” he asked, turning to Dain as he spoke. “I don’t think I’m quite cut out for it.”

Dain laughed boomingly and slapped Bilbo on the back. “You’ve got some fight in you. We may make a warrior out of you yet.” Bilbo didn’t want to be a warrior. Frankly, he wanted a shower, a cup of tea, and warm bed. But there was a fat chance of any of that happening here.

“Come on,” Fili put a hand on his back and urged him to begin to walk. “Let’s get you something to drink; you look like you need it.”

 

 

 


	13. Loss

Bilbo didn’t go out on the next patrol. In fact, he didn’t leave his designated room all that much either. Fili and Kili had grovelled, horrified, and though Bilbo had assured them they should not feel guilty, it was clear from their pouts and sulking that they weren’t going to listen to him. They brought him all of his meals and even offered their own to him. It seemed a silly thing to ask for forgiveness through food- but when meals came sparingly the meaning of offering a meal became a very significant thing.

Bilbo said no, of course. He wasn’t going to eat someone else’s food- even if he was so hungry he could eat an entire feast on his own.

According to Gloin, Fili and Kili were given one hell of a verbal lashing from Thorin, who had refused to go back to the Iron Hills without him, even if it was getting dark and dangerous. Bilbo had reddened at the wink Gloin had given him at that, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. He was quick to insist that it was because Thorin felt responsible for him, just as he did all the others under his care. Gloin just rolled his eyes.

A few days later, after helping Dain fix up some of the ruined parts of the fortress and getting the generators up and running; they gassed up the van as much as they could and set off for Erebor again.

To be honest, Bilbo was quite glad to see the back of the Iron Hills. He liked Dain, of course, and the place wasn’t dreadful, but he was eager to get back to Erebor again. His home.

It seemed tacky to think about Erebor in that manner, but it really had become a home for him. After wandering for so long after the Outbreak having a room designated to him and a warm bed of his own at night was a thing he held close to his heart. He was lucky, very lucky. He knew that. They all were.

Thrain kept Erebor in immaculate condition, which was saying something considering the situation they were in.

Usually it would be a seven hour drive to get back, but that was a little difficult now that the world had gone to crap. Instead they were forced to stop for the nigh, making camp in an abandoned house somewhere near Tyndrum.

“Can’t we keep going?” Gloin whined, pulling his lighter out of his pocket. “It’s only a few hours away.”

“It’s dangerous to move at night,” Dwalin told him now, “you know that.” Gloin huffed in reply.

 “And don’t you be smoking in here,” Dwalin continued as Gloin lifted his cigarette to his lips. “It stinks worse than Deadmen’s Dike.”

Gloin muttered a string of curses, making Bilbo laugh, before getting to his feet and leaving.

“Don’t go too far.” Thorin told him as he crossed the room, flicking his lighter open.

“I’m not an idiot!” Bilbo was sure he would have slammed the door if there was one.

“Someone’s got his knickers in a knot.” Kili snickered now.

“Shut it, you two,” Dwalin growled, “and get some rest. You’ll be on watch at midnight- if you can handle that.”

Fili narrowed his eyes at him, but more or less ignored the jibe. Bilbo supposed they were still feeling guilty.

“I think I need some fresh air.” Bilbo said now, getting to his feet. He didn’t feel like sitting here, thinking about being attacked by Orcs and falling off a cliff. Not exactly the most cheery subject to mull over before sleeping.

“You could always stay inside,” Dwalin commented in reply. “There’s plenty of fresh air in here, especially seeing as there’s no damn door.”

Gloin was puffing desperately just outside, leaning against one of the walls. He saw Bilbo and grinned.

“Come to keep me company, eh?”

Bilbo shrugged. “It’s better than sitting around inside watching everyone else sleep.” And Gloin was good company. He was always so cheery and nothing seemed to faze him. Bilbo wished he could keep that sort of optimism and persistence. Most of the time when he woke up in the morning he just felt like rolling over and dying. He longed for that content one felt when they had nothing to do- nowhere to go. He wanted to sit down and read a good book, or cook, or garden. He enjoyed the hustle and bustle and chaos of travelling with the group, but to an extent. What he needed was a long rest after this was over, he decided. He’d still help, of course- with Thrain and all that. But he didn’t want to do any more of these patrols in the near future.

What he wanted was some security.

“You look off in another world.”

“Huh?” Bilbo turned to him. “Oh,” he shook his head. “Sorry, I was-”

“Just thinking,” Gloin replied with a grin. “I know. You’ve got that ‘thinking’ look on your face.”

“Thinking look?” Bilbo repeated, cocking his head.

“The frown,” he explained now. “The brooding look. Thorin has it, too. Although he thinks so much now about everything that it’s become a permanent fixture on his face.”

Bilbo laughed at him.

“You two have a lot in common, you know.” Gloin continued, side-eyeing Bilbo.

“Do we?”

“Yeah, totally. You’re, uh, well suited, if you know what I mean.” Gloin nudged him.

“Oh, come off it.” Bilbo heaved now. “You keep teasing me about it and I’m just going to have to stop talking to you.”

“You’d wither away without my company.” Gloin replied, turning his head away and sniffing.

Bilbo found himself grinning, and soon abandoned Gloin and his smoking for the slightly warmer interior.

He winced as he slowly slid down the wall and onto the floor. Even though he hadn’t broken anything or injured himself badly, he was still hurting significantly from his fall.

He looked down at his grazed palms now. For such a small amount of damage it smarted quite a lot.

“Do you need something for the pain?” Thorin took a seat beside him.

“Oh, no, no,” Bilbo felt himself panicking slightly, and scolded himself for the ridiculous action. “I was just thinking, is all.” He smiled at him. “How long until we reach Erebor?”

“We’ll be there by lunch tomorrow,” Thorin informed him, “if all goes smoothly.” Things almost never went smoothly.

“Good. We’re quite lucky to have actual beds, rather than just blankets on the ground.” He thought about Glyder Fawr. All those people sleeping on the floor, living off a scarce amount of food supplies.

“Well, Erebor was in use as a Fort before the Outbreak, so we’ve been luckier than most.” Bilbo had to agree with him. Maybe once Dain had gotten the place fixed up properly Bilbo could come up with a way to help them with food.

He was going to say something about this to Thorin, but the floor creaked, cutting their conversation off, and Gloin came into view, looking concerned. “Orcs,” he mouthed, jerking his head in the direction of the door. “A fuck load.”

Bilbo got to his feet, grabbing his cricket bat.

“Where?” Thorin demanded.

“Almost all around us. If we get in the van and drive quickly we should be fine.”

Dwalin shook his head, disagreeing. “The noise will attract more.”

“But the van can go far faster than those bastards can run.” Gloin argued.

“Wake Fili and Kili up,” Thorin ordered Dwalin, “and get to the van. There’s no choice, we’ve got to leave. Now.”

Bilbo and Dwalin got the boys up, and ushered them to the van, ignoring their protests.

“We can take them,” Kili objected, “We can fight!”

“Do you want to get yourself killed, boy?” Dwalin snapped, opening the back doors to the van and pushing them inside. Suddenly a yell of pain shot through the air, and they froze.

“That sounded like Gloin.” Fili looked ready to jump back out of the van.

“Get in,” Bilbo said eventually, lifting his bat up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dwalin put a hand on his shoulder. “You think that’s a good idea?” He asked him.

“You want to try and stop me?” Bilbo queried in reply.

Dwalin smiled crookedly. “I don’t think I’d like to try.” He let Bilbo go. “You make sure they’re alright.”

“You make sure they stay in the van.” He called over his shoulder in reply.

He jogged back to the house. There were Orcs everywhere.

There was no way they were going to fight _that many_ off.

He saw Gloin, or, at least, Gloin’s hair, down from him a little, surrounded and trapped against a wall by the creatures. He began to move forwards, bat raised, but something grabbed him from behind, winding him. He would have cried out, but a hand clamped down on his mouth.

“It’s me.” Thorin hissed.

Bilbo yanked his hand from his mouth so he could speak. “What are you doing?” he demanded, thrashing against Thorin. They weren’t going in the right direction. Gloin was downhill slight, back at the house, but Thorin appeared to have little care for that.

“We have to go.” Was all he told Bilbo.

“We can’t just leave him!” All his thrashing was doing him no good, because Thorin barely budged.

Instead he pulled Bilbo back so he could look him in the eye. “He’s been bitten.” He explained now, and Bilbo’s thrashing stopped immediately.

He shook his head slowly, unbelieving. “No.” Not Gloin.

“We can’t help him- but he can help us. He _is_ helping us. Helping us get away.”

“No.” He still didn’t believe it. “No.” He pulled away, refusing to accept that. Gloin was his _friend_ , he couldn’t just leave him. He had to help, he had to-

A sharp shock of pain flared through his head and he fell forwards, colours bursting behind his eyes. He felt rocks and dirt and grass beneath him as he met with the ground and then, blackness and silence.

 

 

 

 


	14. Silverlining

Bilbo awoke to the sounds of people and birds. For a moment his mind conjured up the only possible excuse to him- that his recent experiences had been nothing more than a very bad dream.

Then he heard the cow. And that wasn’t something that one would usually hear in North London, where he had resided before the Outbreak happened. He sat up quickly, ignoring the spin that resulted in his head, and found himself in his room back in Erebor. There was a dull throbbing in the back of his head and the sun hurt his eyes.

His cricket bat sat in the corner of the room; leaning against the wall, beside it on the chair sat his jacket and shoes. And then he remembered.

He jumped from bed, the bite of the cold not touching him, and stalked out of his room, pushing past people who watched him with a curious eye.

He found Thorin in his father’s office, with Frerin by his side. They looked to be going over something important, but that didn’t much change Bilbo’s mind.

His fist connected with Thorin’s jaw quite suddenly, so much so that he’d had no time at all to prepare for the hit. In result, Thorin jolted to the side, nearly falling on the ground.

“You son of a bitch!”

Thorin looked up at him, gaze lethal, before quickly turning the same glance at Frerin.

“I’ll, uh, give you two some privacy, then- shall I?” He quickly made his escape, shutting the door quietly behind him,

Thorin straightened himself up. “That was unnecessary.” He put a hand up when Bilbo clenched his fist in anger. “Don’t try and hit me again,” his voice was calm, as always, “or I will have to hurt you.”

“Do you feel _nothing_?” Bilbo demanded. “Are you not upset, or-or grieving? A man has died. A man who was supposed to be your friend.”

“He was my friend.”

“And you let him die!”

“You think I didn’t want to go back there? That I didn’t want to kill _every_ _one_ of them and drag him out? _I couldn’t_. I couldn’t because he’d change and spread the infection and I couldn’t save him and that’s my fault and my responsibility- but don’t you tell me that I _let_ him die.” Silence fell between them. “You’re upset, I know that.” Thorin told him tightly, the tension in the room easing slightly at the lowering of voices. “ _We all are_. We have all lost someone today and we will all regret that. But we couldn’t have saved him.”

“We could have at least tried.” For once, Thorin lowered his head and avoided his gaze. Bilbo just left.

Dwalin found Bilbo sitting by himself at the edge of the camp, looking at the wall disdainfully.

He groaned as he sat down beside him, the crackling of his knees making him seem a lot older than he really was. He gave a relaxed sigh as he sat completely down, his shoulders releasing some of their tension.

For a while he was silent, just watching the people across the way a little, or looking up at the sky, which was unseasonably clear.

“He feels more guilt than you could ever make him feel, y’know.” He informed him eventually.

“Does he?” Bilbo asked dully, not really listening.

“He always does. There’s a lot of pressure on him to keep people alive.” Bilbo wouldn’t know what that felt like. He’d never been in charge of people’s lives before. “You two should talk. _Calmly_. It wouldn’t be for the best if you went in there swinging again.”

Bilbo felt the unnecessary need to defend himself. “He _died_.”

“He was a dead man anyway. He was bitten; we all know what that means. It’d have done no good if you’d gotten yourself killed, too.”

“We shouldn’t have left him.”

“We had to.” Dwalin sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Look, you haven’t been here as long as the rest of us- and before all this happened I’m sure you had a nice little job that wasn’t life threatening. But us, we’ve always lived like this. We were in the army before- we were made for this sort of thing. You’re a brave person, and I’m not denying that you’ve got smarts and will and all that other crap. But you’re gentle.  You were raised gentle, you lived gentle. You haven’t been exposed to this kind of harsh reality before. That’s the only reason why no one blames you for your reaction. If you’d been one of Thrain’s men, you probably would have had a lashing by now.”

“Thorin came back for me. When I fell off that cliff he searched for me even though it was highly likely that _I_ was a dead man. That I had died after I fell, or that I’d been bitten...  Against all odds, he continued to search for me, regardless of what any of you lot said. Why do _I_ get to live, but Gloin gets to die?”

Dwalin opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He sighed. “It was different. You weren’t surrounded by a hoard of Orcs, you hadn’t already been bitten, there was a strong possibility that you survived the fall. He would have done the same any of us.”

Bilbo gave him no reply.

“Just talk to him.” Dwalin suggested. “It’d be healthier if you talk about it.”

Bilbo made a face now. “I can’t believe I _punched_ him.”

Dwalin laughed. “Neither can anyone else. To be honest, we’ve all been laughing about it. Thorin doesn’t let just _anyone_ punch him.”

“Yeah, well, my hand is aching. So I think that’s payback enough.”

“Aye,” Dwalin replied with a grin, “he always did have a thick head.”

Bilbo snorted.

“Oh, looks like you’ll get your chance now.”

“What?” Bilbo followed his gaze to find Thorin coming in their direction. “Ah.” He had to admit he felt mildly uncomfortable.

“Dwalin, my father was looking for you. Something about patrol rosters.”

“Right,” Dwalin got to his feet. “I’ll see you later.”

Bilbo just nodded, watching as he disappeared around a corner leaving them alone. He glanced up at Thorin. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Did you want to...?” Bilbo gestured to the place beside him where Dwalin had been sitting. “I don’t know, sit down?”

Thorin slowly took a seat beside him.

“You knocked me out.” Bilbo said eventually.

“You punched me.” Thorin countered.

“Well, not very well, so I don’t think it counts.”

Thorin’s lips twitched at that, a movement which Bilbo prided himself on eliciting.

He would have said more, if he could think of what he could say, but they were interrupted by Bofur, running like a madman and skidding to a stop in front of them.

“On the radio,” he puffed now, “you have to come and listen to this, someone’s broadcasting. But you’re not going to believe it.”

“What?”

“He says he’s got a cure to the Outbreak.”

 

 

 


	15. Gandalf The Grey

_“If anyone can hear this, my name is Gandalf. Before the Outbreak I was a chemist, working with various dangerous compounds. For the past God knows how many months, or years, or however long it’s been, I’ve been working on something that could stem the virus that causes these mutations. I’ve tested it. It works. It can’t change Orcs back to humans, but it can stop humans from becoming Orcs when they’re bitten. If anybody can hear this, you can find me in Inverie, in the Scottish Highlands. It’s one of the most remote places you can find, so it’s safe. If you can get here- find me.”_

“Sounds suspicious.” Thorin muttered. “And convenient.”

“Do we have any maps on Inverie?”

“I had a look,” Thrain moved over to the shelf, picking up a bundle of papers. “And it’s so small, I could barely find it.” He spread one out of the desk, pointing to a small dot he’d drawn on. “It’s not even that far from us.”

“You think it’s a trap?” Bilbo asked.

“I’m almost certain if it.”

“But what if it’s just startlingly convenient?” He asked them. “What if he really does have a cure? And why would one man try to trap people?”

Dis was shaking her head. “We have to check it out. It’s too curious a thing to just leave be.”

“If we travel over the highlands it’s going to take us forever,” Thrain told them. Our only hope of getting there is going here,” he pointed to another spot on the map “to Mallaig, and to find some sort of boat to ferry us over Loch Nevis.”

“A boat?” Frerin asked, scoffing. “What are the chances of us finding a _boat_ , much less a boat that works?”

“Well, if you want to walk over the mountains for months and probably die, be my guest.”

“What do we know about Inverie?” Thorin wanted to know.

“It’s really fucking small.” Frerin told him now, laughing. “And isolated.”

“We don’t have any books listing it.” Dis ignored her brother. “I’ve looked through all of them.”

“Wonderful,” Dwalin commented dryly. “An isolated town that’s almost inaccessible with probably no food or water and we’re actually considering _going_ there.” He waved a hand at the map. “How do we know this fellow isn’t leading us on a merry chase? Maybe he’s not in Inverie at all. Maybe he just wants to screw with people.”

“We don’t.” Thrain replied. “But if on the off chance it’s not a trick- that this man might actually have some sort of cure...” He gave as sigh. “We need to make sure.”

Thorin nodded slowly, looking hardly pleased. “Alright. Someone get on the radio and send a message back, see if he replies. And call the other forts- I’m sure they got the message, too. They’re going to want to know what the hell’s going on.”

“Alright,” Frerin sat down, working the buttons on the radio. Bilbo followed Thorin outside.

“Why would someone try to trap us?” He asked as hey walked. “With Orcs everywhere it seems silly that humans would mess with each other. We need to stick together.”

“Maybe he intends to trap us- take our food. Use us as a distraction- God only knows.”

“A cure.” Bilbo said on a whimsical sigh now. “Could you imagine it? No more Orcs.”

“There would still be Orcs.” Thorin replied gruffly.

“Yes, but no _new_ ones. We could work on eradicating them without fear of getting changed ourselves.”

“That’s if the cure is real.” Thorin told him.

“Yes.”

“And if we can find the right amount and kind of ingredients to make it in a mass multitude.” He continued.

“Well... yes.”

“And,” Thorin finished now, “managing to transport it in high quantities to all the other camps when it’s needed.”

Bilbo sighed, feeling less cheery than he had a moment ago. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.” He said eventually. “But still, it would be a start, right?”

“It would.” Thorin allowed. “But we can’t get our hopes up.”

“There wouldn’t be much to live for if he didn’t get our hopes up.” Bilbo replied now.

 

* * *

 

“Thrain’s banned us from going on this latest expedition.” Thorin said as Bilbo opened the door on him that night. No greetings or anything, always straight to the point.

“What?”

“He says we should take a break- after what happened with Gloin and all.” He pushed past Bilbo and into his room. “He’s asking Dwalin and Fili and Kili to stay behind as well.” He said over his shoulder.

Bilbo shut the door, following him back inside. “Who’s going then?” He wondered.

“Dis and Frerin, along with Nori and... some others,” Thorin shrugged, taking a seat on the chair against the wall. “To be honest, I just stopped listening.”

“Nori?” Bilbo repeated, pulling a face.

“That’s what I said. But he insists it’s time some of the others had a few outings. Did something of use.”

“Well...” Bilbo sat down on the edge of the bed. “It might be a good thing.” Thorin snorted. “No, really,” he insisted. “I mean, it’s been a long few months, and I sure wouldn’t mind a break. The others can handle themselves.”

Thorin groaned, rolling his shoulders in a manner quite similar to Dwalin. “I’ll go crazy being locked up here.”

“I think a lot of us will. But having a warm bed to sleep in for the next few weeks is very tempting. You can take up Frerin’s duties, I’m sure that will keep you more than occupied. And I heard some of the others talking about fixing parts of the wall to strengthen them... There’s a lot to do around here.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Thorin frowned. “I still don’t like it.”

Bilbo laughed at him. “You don’t like anything.”

“I like plenty of things.”

“Obeying orders doesn’t count,” he teased. “Now come on,” he got to his feet. “Let’s get something to eat. We should break the news to the others. And by ‘we’ I mean you, of course.”

 

 

 


	16. A Wolf in Sheeps Clothing

Bilbo revelled in the free time he was given. He set up another plot of vegetables, helped patch up the outside of the walls; he even helped Ori a little with fixing the torn and old bed linens.

He hissed as he stabbed his finger once more, muttering something about not being suited to sewing.

Ori laughed at him. “You just have to practice." He insisted with a smile. "You’ll get better in time.”

“I think I’m far too impatient for that.” Bilbo replied, staring as a small drop of blood welled from his red finger.

Ori fell silent in his reply, obviously considering his next words carefully. “So," he began eventually, catching Bilbo's attention, "you and Thorin…”

“What about me and Thorin?” Bilbo repeated with narrowed eyes. It would never cease to surprise him the situations in which people gossiped.

“Well, I’m usually not one for gossip," Ori explained, hitting Bilbo's thoughts right on the head, "but someone told me he saw Thorin leaving your room in the early hours of the morning.”

Bilbo felt his ears heat up a little. “And would that someone be the same someone who I saw all but carrying you to your own room the other night?” He queried teasingly, trying to ignore his own mortification.

“Well… ah, yes.” Ori finished with a grin.

“Thought so.”

“So you two are…?”

“Yes." Bilbo replied. "Well, maybe. I don’t know.” He sighed a little. “He’s around a lot, and we spend a lot of time together, but he doesn’t really talk about it. _We_ don't really talk about it.”

“Maybe you should ask him.” Ori suggested now

“I don’t know if I want to.” Bilbo admitted. “What if I’ve got it wrong and it’s nothing? What if he's just a friend and...” Well, maybe not just a friend. Thorin _had_ kissed him, after all.

“Ah, you’ll be right.” Ori shrugged it off. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” he continued as Bilbo looked at him with a frown. “Dwalin tells me he’s never really been interested in anyone before, but he's certain he's got an inkling for you. And if anyone should know, it’s him. But you two haven’t…? You know…” Ori waved his needle about vaguely.

It took Bilbo more than a moment to realise what he meant, and he flushed in embarrassment at his own innocence on the subject. He should have known what Ori was asking about right away. Now he seemed like some sort of bushing maiden. “No, no, no. We haven’t really done all that much.” Thorin had barely touched him since that night in the Iron Hills.

“Well, maybe he’s waiting on you like you’re waiting on him.”

Bilbo turned to his friend. “You think?” Could it be his own ineptness and ignorance causing the problem?

Ori gave a shrug, as if to say ‘why not?’. “Sure. I mean, maybe he thinks you don’t want to take it further. Maybe he's worried if he tries something you'll get upset.”

Bilbo supposed that after their fight about Gloin, Thorin might have started holding himself back. After all, Bilbo had hit him and all. They made up, of course, but Thorin might still have decided to leave Bilbo to himself until he gave him some sort of sign that it was okay...

“It seems so silly.” Bilbo chuckled now. “That I’m worrying about such trivial things when were in the middle of what seems like the end of the world. That we’re all getting killed by Orcs and I’m sitting here whining like some sort of teenager.”

Ori grinned. “I think fancying someone turns everyone into an overgrown teenager. But just ask him,” he insisted now. “I’m sure you two will-”

The door burst open suddenly, making the both of them jump in shock, turning to find Bofur sticking his head through. “Hey, you’ll never believe this.”

“What is it?” Ori wondered.

Bofur had that silly grin on his face, the one that meant there was good news. “We found survivors on patrol.”

Bilbo got to his feet, dropping the linen he'd been holding in shock. “ _What_?” Survivors? Near Erebor?

\--

The two men were unconscious, both bloody and bruised, but unbitten and alive. Bilbo helped Oin fix their wounds and sat with them, slowly trickling water into their mouths. The second one, the taller one (the one that Bilbo chose to sit with) woke up constantly in a disconcerted daze and refused to let go of Bilbo’s forearm. And, oh, he had the most stunning eyes. A beautiful, dark blue, unfathomably deep, twinkling things they were, with little strikes of gold through them. Bilbo had never seen eyes like those before. Not that it mattered, but he couldn't help but notice.

The man seemed to panic in his sleep, so Bilbo took up a habit of talking to him, telling him about Erebor, and the Company, the little things that needed doing around the place. It appeared to calm him, and Oin encouraged it.

Bilbo stayed there for hours, talking, sitting, waiting. The man seemed to sleep deeper after some time, and Bilbo was on the verge of dosing off in the chair himself.

“You’ve been in here for a while.” The voice came out of the blue, jolting Bilbo back into the land of the living. He looked over his shoulder to find Thorin standing in the doorway. And of course he was a mess, half asleep and probably drooling when Thorin came to find him. Ad of course, Thorin was looking like his usual attractive self. He was very clearly tired, though that did nothing to detract from his appeal. Bilbo only then considered his words, taking his eyes from Thorin's face. It was quite dark outside, the sun had set long ago, apparently. And he'd barely eaten a thing since lunch.

“Oh, well, yes.” He gave Thorin a small grin. “I didn’t want to leave them alone.” He’d been alone too often before he came to Erebor, and he knew how frightening the dark could be when there were no other voices to guide you.

Thorin’s mouth fumbled up into a half smile at Bilbo’s words, and he stepped further inside, taking a seat at the end of the bed, facing him. Bilbo couldn’t help but notice their knees were almost touching.

“It’s a nice thought,” Thorin informed him, clearly unaware of the nervousness his closeness evoked in Bilbo. “But you ought to get some sleep.”

“I’ll get some sleep soon.” Bilbo assured him. “I just want to be here when they wake up.”

Thorin sighed heavily. “You worry too much about things you can’t control.”

Bilbo’s shoulders sagged. “It’s a force of habit.” He replied with a wry smile.

Thorin, obviously realising his suggestions were in vain, got to hid feet once more. “If you do-” he paused as he passed him by, putting a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “If you feel like getting some sleep somewhere close by, you know where my room is.” The touch of his hand warmed right through his clothes and onto his skin. It was a comforting touch, tender and kind and it led Bilbo to think of Thorin's hands touching him in other places.

Bilbo gave him a nod, knowing he was probably too scared to take him up on his offer, and tried to get the thought out of his head. “Thanks.” Was all he said.

He watched him leave, mentally scolding himself about not running out after him. Though he supposed that might have looked a little clingy or love struck. And he was certainly not love struck.

Well… at least, he wasn’t going to admit it to anybody.

Despite his constant assurances to himself that he was not some sort of forlorn puppy, he was, in fact, still wondering whether he _should_ take Thorin up on the offer. But before he could make the decision to get out of the chair or not, the man’s eyes flickered open once more, the glaze that had been there before no longer present.

He frowned at Bilbo, squinting through the light of the lamp on the bedside table.

“Nice to see you awake.” Bilbo gave the man a grin, all previous thoughts of Thorin and his bed wiped from his mind. “You had us a little worried for a while there.”

“Where am I?” His voice was a little raspy, but otherwise surprisingly deep and rumbling. Some might have labelled it threatening.

“You’re in Erebor. Some of our men found you and your friend while on patrol.” He pointed to the other man across the room, who still hadn’t woken up. The man linked, turning to look at his friend before turning back to Bilbo.

“Erebor?” He repeated. “What’s Erebor?”

“It’s a fort. We take in survivors, hunt Orc.”

“They said something about a safe haven.” The man gave a small turn of the lips, though it was mirthless and dry. “I have to admit, I didn’t believe them.”

“Neither did I.” Bilbo replied. “But I was saved, too. Here, you must be thirsty.” He reached over and grabbed the cup of water on the bedside table, handing it to him. “Drink this.” The man thankfully accepted, greedily drinking it all down. “What’s your name?” Bilbo asked as he finished the last of it off.

“Smaug.”

“Smaug?” Bilbo repeated. “That’s a strange name.” Smaug just shrugged as Bilbo poured him another cup of water. “I’m Bilbo.”

“Bilbo?” Smaug snorted. “And you’re telling me about strange names.”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, Smaug.” He got to his feet now. “I’ll let you rest some more, and wait for your friend to wake up as well. I’m sure you’re going to like it here a lot.” He felt a large weight off his chest now, and perhaps he’d stop by Thorin’s room and tell him the good news. Though he wasn’t sure whether he as genuinely excited to tell him, or if he was just using it as an excuse to see him again.

“Anywhere’s better than out there.” Smaug replied eventually, waving his arm at one of the windows to the world beyond.

Bilbo found that he very much agreed with the man.

 

 

 

 


	17. Trust is an Earned Reward

Frerin contacted them by radio when they made it to Inverie. Surprisingly, things had gone off without a hitch and they’d all made it safely without incident. Gandalf was not a fake, at least, according to the research Dis looked at. She was almost certain the theory was accurate. But she couldn’t say the same about the antidote. Some things worked well on paper but not in real life, and they would have to test it when they got back. God knows how, but they’d find a way.

Smaug got healthier as each day passed although his friend was still very sick and comatose. His wounds were significantly worse than Smaug’s wounds had been. In fact, Oin had begun to wonder (silently, of course- no one but Bilbo would hear him state it out loud) that the wounds the man held were less than likely to be inflicted by any Orc or Troll. They were caused by a weapon, and Orc were not known for using weapons, they were more likely to tear you apart limb from limb with their own hands before they bothered to pick up a machete or bat or something.

So they had been attacked by men. But why? Bilbo could not fathom an answer, and Smaug didn’t remember what happened. The large, gaping gash across his forehead was enough to tell anyone he had been knocked about severely by _someone_.

Dori had suggested that perhaps they were caught stealing food from one of the smaller group of people that had somehow managed to survive without help from the military, and that they had chased them out of the group. Bilbo asked why he’d suggest such a strange thing, and Dori had explained that it had happened to them once. Nori had stolen one too many loaves of bread and as a result they’d all been chased out. Poor Ori had been scared to talk to anyone after that, which explained his skittish behavior when they first met.

Regardless of what it was, Smaug was keeping tight lipped about it. Whether he didn’t remember or did recall and didn’t want to share, Bilbo wasn’t sure, but it must have been something big to be so badly attacked.

Smaug walked a lot now, and Bilbo helped him, showing him around, getting him to help him in the gardens, or do a quick walk around the outside of the wall, checking for weaknesses or damage. In fact, as of late, Smaug had become much like a second shadow, constantly following Bilbo wherever he went. It seemed to highly irritate Thorin.

“He ought to make some other friends.” He muttered late one night while they sat side by side. Thorin was smoking, puffing desperately as if his life depended on it (highly ironic) and Bilbo was just watching.

“Do you not like Smaug?” Bilbo wondered now.

“I dislike him severely.” Thorin all but snapped.

“Why?”

“I can’t…” he trailed off, pulling a face.

“What?”

“I don’t know. But there’s something about him that just... gets to me.” He started pacing.

“You don’t trust him.” Bilbo stated.

Thorin clicked his fingers, pointing at Bilbo like he was a genius. “Exactly.”

“But you will.” Thorin’s face fell as Bilbo continued. “He’s only been here a few weeks. Trust doesn’t come when you first meet a person. You didn’t trust me at the start. I don’t even think you liked me all that much, either.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s completely the same and you know it.”

“You saved my life. Besides, I hated you at first because I was attracted to you and that’s never a good thing for me.”

Bilbo choked out laughter. “Real romantic.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Thorin huffed and sat down next to him again.

“I do.” Bilbo assured him. “But you have to at least give him a chance.”

“You give people a chance in this time of life and you’ll wind up dead.”

Bilbo agreed with him, but only to an extent. Thorin could tell. He took one more long puff of his cigarette before dropping and stomping it out on the ground.

“Come on,” he grabbed Bilbo by the hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Where are we going?” Bilbo asked him.

“Inside,” Thorin explained. “It’s freezing out here.”

“You’re the one who wanted to smoke.”

“When does your brother get home?”

“Odd question to ask when I’m carting you off to bed.” Thorin muttered, reaching his room and dragging Bilbo inside. “They’re due back in a few days, this _Gandalf_ fellow in tow.”

“I’m assuming you don’t trust _him_ either.”

Thorin smiled wryly. “I don’t trust many people.”

“But you trust me?” He asked.

Thorin looked at him over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“How nice.” Bilbo commented, and Thorin rolled his eyes, collapsing on his bed and dragging Bilbo down with him.

“You’re always so teasing.”

“It’s my default setting.” Bilbo gave a yawn, stretching out on the bed. “You should be nicer to Smaug.” He mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes.

The last thing he heard before falling asleep was Thorin making a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.

He smiled.

“Baby,” he muttered.

 

 

 


	18. The Beginings of a Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I actually finished a chapter. Thank God, it took me long enough. Sorry about the wait, guys!

Gandalf was hardly what he was expecting.

Well, to be honest, Bilbo wasn’t sure what he was expecting in the first place. But this… certainly wasn’t it.

The man’s beard was so long it could have been tripped over, to start with. He dressed like a hobo, but you couldn’t blame him for that. This _was_ the apocalypse, after all, not Britain’s Next Top Model.

Looking at the others now, he was sure they were thinking much the same thing.

Frerin was barely suppressing laughter, which Bilbo was sure he’d been doing since they found Gandalf. Thorin appeared highly unimpressed, though he had to admit to himself that Thorin rarely appeared impressed by anything. Thrain just appeared as is usual, considering self. Standing in the background and analysing everything and everyone.

Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what he thought of Gandalf. He seemed a nice sort of chap. Friendly and excited to find other survivors. He supposed he couldn’t be sure, mainly because Gandalf was an odd character, but also because Dis had informed him that Gandalf had been growing his own marijuana plants back in Inverie. And not just one or two- according to her there’d been a whole marijuana farm going on there. Not to mention he’d been rather lament in leaving it, and had even brought one along with him so he could start his own crop here in Erebor.

Thrain was still yet to decide whether he’d allow _that_ or not.

Bilbo found it all very amusing.

“Well get you set up soon enough and you can start synthesising what you can- we’ll have a look around for other ingredients you might need. We have patrols that go on hunts for specific items so we can add those to the list.”

Gandalf nodded slowly, eyes drooping slightly. He was very clearly stoned. “That’s cool, man. I can do that.”

Thrain closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to keep himself from saying something mean. “Why don’t you show him to his new room, Frerin?” He suggested eventually, waving to his son. “I’m sure you’ll want to get freshened up after your long journey.”

“Awesome.”

Bilbo watched with pursed lips and repressed laughter as Frerin lead Gandalf out of the room. “So,” he asked as the door closed behind them. “What do you think of Gandalf the genius?”

“He’s certainly interesting.” Thorin muttered before turning to his father. “Can we make the cure in such a high demand?”

“Probably not. We have to work the only way we can. Little by little. Small steps towards a big future.” He pushed himself up from the chair he was sitting on. “I’d better go see that sick fellow that Oin’s looking after- he’s still asleep and they’re getting a bit worried for him now.”

“Interesting?” Bilbo queried after Thrain had left.

Thorin just shrugged. “I couldn’t have said 'weird as fuck' in front of my father, could I?”

Bilbo snickered. “Come on, daddy’s boy.” He teased now, moving towards the door himself. “Let’s go find something to do.”

His walking was halted, however, by Thorin grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him back. He moved closer to Bilbo, leaning down and brushing their lips together hesitatingly. Things had been moving like that a lot at the moment: hesitatingly. Each of them just as unsure as the other.

Bilbo found it hard to be sure of himself most days, not quite clear on what Thorin felt, though right now it was pretty obvious to him what Thorin was thinking.

He pulled away quickly, not wanting anyone to walk into the room and find them in such a state. “We shouldn’t be doing this here.” He insisted in a hushed tone.

Thorin just grabbed him and pulled him back, crushing their bodies together. “Don’t care,” he murmured through the kisses. “They ought to know their place and leave us be.”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_.” Bilbo whined, pulling away with a blush spreading across his cheeks. Sure, people knew about their grappling attempts at a relationship, but that didn’t mean he wanted anyone walking in while they were snogging. “There are things we have to do.” He stated instead. “And we don’t have nearly enough hours in the day to do them.”

Thorin sighed in resignation, slowly pulling away.

“Better?” He asked.

“A little.” Bilbo smiled. “Now, I’m going to go check on the comatose man, perhaps you ought to make sure Fili and Kili are actually pulling out the vegetables rather than throwing them at each other.”

Thorin heaved a sigh. “Yes, I suppose. Why do I always get the bad jobs?”

“Because everyone’s smart enough to offload them to you and run away.” Bilbo replied, grinning at him over his shoulder as he left. “I’ll see you later.”

 

* * *

 

Oin was shaking his head, confused. “He should be better.” He said, looking down at the man in front of him. “I don’t know what’s gone wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. By all accounts, this man should just get up and walk right out of here.”

Bilbo watched the man breathe slowly, chest rising and falling. “How is Smaug taking it?”

“He’s doing the best he can under the circumstances.” Oin replied with a shrug. “Just like the rest of us.”

“Or maybe not.” Thrain muttered, more to himself than anyone else, though he captured both Oin’s and Bilbo’s attention.

“What do you mean?” Bilbo wondered.

“Nothing,” Thrain heaved a sigh, eyes still locked on the comatose man. “Not yet, anyway.” And then he turned on his heel and simply left.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm a big out of my game, guys. That shit sounded like something from a bad romance novel.


	19. The Man With the Key is King

The yells were what woke him up later that night. Or perhaps it was the next morning, he wasn’t sure. He jolted in his seat beside the man in the bed, almost falling out onto the ground, and rubbed his eyes, moving to see what was going on.

“What’s going on?” He asked just as two men carrying an unconscious man came through the front door.

“There’s been some sort of attack on the guards.”

Bilbo’s stomach dropped. “Attack?” He asked, voice hollow.

“Human,” Oin replied immediately, as if knowing what to say to calm him, “not Orc.”

He relaxed slightly, but still remained tense. “Who attacked them?”

“Don’t know.” One of the men replied. “Just found him like this,” he gestured at the man now spread out on Oin’s table, red blossoming near his hip.

“Oh. I’d better go out, see if everyone’s alright.”

“Here comes another!” The second man called, leaning out the window. “He’s been hit in the knees.”

Bilbo exited quickly, giving them room to carry the new patient through.

People were everywhere, searching for some sort of culprit, and Bilbo found Thorin in the canteen, talking to Dwalin and Nori about the weapons they had in storage.

“We have three guns, some smoke bombs, a few grenades and a machete missing.” Was what Dwalin was saying when Bilbo approached.

“Where’s your father?” Bilbo asked, coming to a stop in front of them.

“He’s ripping the place apart for whoever shot those men.”

“I’d like to rip _him_ apart when they find him.” Was all that Dwalin muttered in reply.

“Is anything missing? Apart from the weapons,” he added, waving at Dwalin when he opened his mouth to reply.

“We don’t know, but Gandalf isn’t in his room. He could just be lost in the chaos, but…” Nori finished with a shrug.

“Who’s at the front gates?” Bilbo wondered now.

“Frerin took extra men over there to make sure no one got out.”

“But you could drive out.” Bilbo felt dread curl around his gut as he said the words.

“Well, not unless the gates open.” Dwalin replied with a shrug.

“But you could break _down_ the gates with one of those military vehicles, right?”

“Sure, if you want to break down the whole gate- Bilbo!” But Bilbo was already gone, running out of the canteen and down the road, towards the end of the camp where the vehicles were kept locked.

He skidded to a stop, finding the heavy doors were wide open and the chains around the handles had been broken. He pushed his way in, following the sound of arguing voices.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, man.” Gandalf.

“You’re going with me, or I’ll put a bullet in your head like I did his.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” Gandalf argued now. “You need me. I’m the only one who knows the formula. You couldn’t kill me.”

Bilbo came around the corner, finding Smaug looking considering at Gandalf before shrugging.

“You’re right.” He said now, before lowering the gun slightly and shooting Gandalf in the knee. He fell to the ground in pain, wordlessly gasping and clutching at his wounded leg.

“Now get up on your good leg and get in the damned vehicle.” Smaug hissed.

Then Bilbo saw it, the body on the floor behind Smaug. A familiar figure, tall and hulking, and that thick black hair that ran in the family.

“Oh, my God.” He staggered forward a little, catching Smaug’s attention.

“Well, hello there.” A charming smile swept over his face.

“You killed him," Bilbo choked out. "He’s dead.” Bilbo had seen people die before, yes, but he'd never seen anybody who'd been shot with a gun, kiled by another _person_ before. It was horrifying.

Smaug just looked at the body before turning his gaze back to Bilbo. “He is, yes. Didn’t have the smarts to leave things be.” He tapped the barrel of the gun to his head before retraining it back to Bilbo.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo couldn’t take his eyes from the dead body on the ground, the blood that seeped from his head and cascaded along the ground, making the wood sticky and crimson. It made him feel sick.

“I had to take my chances now,” Smaug was saying, though Bilbo barely heard him. Words were strange, muffled, like he was being held underwater. “I might not have gotten the opportunity later on.”

“Opportunity?” He repeated, finally tearing his eyes away from Thrain to where Smaug was standing.

Smaug sighed as if Bilbo was being needlessly thick. “The formula, obviously.” He huffed. “I heard him on the radio too, you see,” he pointed the gun at Gandalf quickly, gesturing for him to huffy up and get in the vehicle. “Heard your reply, too. So we had to get here. Well, I say _we_ , but I really just mean me. Azog was… unneeded baggage. You know how clingy people can be in a time like this. Was going to leave him for dead, but the others found us first.” He sighed. “Then there was all this unnecessary effort going to keep him asleep so he didn’t wake up and realise that I’d betrayed him because he was no longer useful to me.”

“What’re you going to do with it? You don’t need it. There are people out there who do need it. Who can use a cure. Why are you taking that from them?”

“I’m not taking anything from anyone. You lot were stupid enough to decide to distribute it freely, do you know what kind of power you could have if you held onto it and watched the people claw over each other to get to it? They’d give you anything you wanted. _Anything_. I’m not taking anything from anyone I’m just… gaining maximum opportunity from it. Not all of us are smart enough to be as opportunistic as I am.”

“You… want to sell the formula to the highest bidder?” Disbelief laced Bilbo’s voice. What use did money have in a world like this?

“Now that I have this they’ll all give me anything I ask for.”

“You wanted what? Food? Safety? A place to sleep at night? You had all this here!”

Smaug rolled his eyes. “Really? You’re going all _Kumbyah_ on me?”

“What use do you have with _money_?”

“Oh, this isn’t just about _money_ , Bilbo. It really isn’t. In a world like this the man with the key is king. And I _will_ be king.”

“Power?” Bilbo said dumbly. “You want power.”

“You very clearly don’t understand.”

“No.” Bilbo replied simply. “I don’t.” From what he knew, power in this kind of world wasn’t worth it. He saw the constant pressure Thrain had been under, the pressure Thorin was under. But Smaug wasn’t talking about being a _good_ leader. Just a leader. Not even that, really. A Ruler, a King. An Enslaver. “You’re just going to hurt people. You won’t save any of them.”

Smaug rolled his eyes. “I’ve spent enough time trying to explain this to you. So, if you’ll excuse me,” he began to move towards the vehicle. “I think I’ll go now.”

“You drive out and you’ll knock down our wall, you’ll leave us defenceless.”

Smaug just gave a large shrug. “Then it sucks to be you, doesn’t it?” And then he aimed the gun at Bilbo and shot.

 

 


	20. Plans

Bilbo woke covered in blood and yells sounding around him. There was someone above him, desperately pushing their hands to his shoulder, eliciting licks of pain from his shoulder. He rolled his head to the side to find Thrain’s body covered with some sort of sheet.

The car Gandalf was in was gone.

“The gate?” Bilbo murmured.

“Quiet now.” The voice scolded him. “I’m trying to save your life, the least you could do is let me do it without disturbance.”

Bilbo reached up, blinding grasping at the lapels of someone’s jacket. “The gate?” He asked again, voice gravelly and desperate. It didn’t even sound like his own voice anymore. And he was so thirsty.

“Soon as you left,” a soft voice assured him, “they got Nori to run to Frerin and tell him to open the gates. Better we let whoever it is get out rather than have a gaping hole in the only thing that keeps us from the Orcs.”

“Ori?”

“Yeah,” the blurry figure to his side smiled. “It’s me.”

“Thorin?”

“He’s here, too.”

“Okay.” Bilbo relaxed instantly, feeling sleep taking his body over again. “’m not g’na die, ‘m I?” He heard himself murmur.

“You’ll be fine.” The voice he finally recognised as Oin informed him.

“Oh, good. That would ruin my day.” He sighed noisily. “I really liked this shirt.”

There was a choking laugh, one he thought might have been Frerin or Thorin’s, and then he was unconscious again.

The second time Bilbo woke it was to much less chaos. There was no yelling, nor was there any blood, for which he was thankful. He’d seen enough blood for one day, thank you very much.

He tried to shift, to make himself more comfortable, but a shooting pain stretched from his shoulder and down his arm, making him wince.

“Ouch,” he croaked.

“Bilbo!” He turned his head to the side to find he had an audience.

“Ori,” he said now, ignoring the ache.

“Yes?”

“Remind me never to get shot again.” He informed him, flexing his fingers. “It’s not an activity I’d like to repeat.”

Ori laughed, though it sounded a little choked. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Good.” He inhaled deeply before shifting to sit up.

“Oh, you shouldn’t-” Ori began.

But Bilbo cut him off. “Just shut up and give me a hand, yeah?”

Ori huffed and reached over to help Bilbo sit. “Oh, that’s better.” He said once he was nestled up against the bed, pillows beneath his back. “How long was I out for?”

“Couple of hours,” Ori gave a shrug, “it’s almost midday now.”

“Time for lunch,” Bilbo made move to rub his hands together, but winced. “I wonder if I ignore the copious amounts of pain if it’ll go away.”

Dwalin snorted. “Not likely.”

Bilbo paused. “How’s Thorin?” And Frerin. And Dis.

“Coping.” Was all Dwalin said. “As best they can, anyway.”

“Thorin _was_ here,” Ori rushed to add. “He stayed with you until Nori dragged him away to be with his siblings.”

“And Smaug got away?” Bilbo asked now.

Dwalin nodded. “Yeah.”

“And I suppose Thorin’s going to go after him.” He continued.

“Yeah.”

“Wonderful.” He glanced down at his arm, noticing something now that he hadn’t before, he could only assume because of the pain

“What’s this?”

“It’s a sling,” Ori noted proudly. “I made it myself.”

“It’s red.” Bilbo said now, still looking at it.

“Yes,” Ori answered slowly, not understanding.

“Well, it’s not exactly the best camouflage, is it? I’ll be spotted from a mile away if I go out with this on.”

“Well…” All of a sudden both Ori and Dwalin were avoiding his gaze.

“I _am_ coming with you guys, aren’t I?” He asked, watching them carefully.

There was another moment of silence, before Ori let out a spluttered: “You’re injured!”

“I’ll be fine. It’s an arm wound. I’m still useful. I’m going.”

“Bilbo-”

“ _I’m_ _going_.” He repeated. “And if Thorin has a problem with that I’ll talk to him myself.”

Ori made a face. “It’s not that you’re not useful. But you’re hurt. And someone needs to be here while we’re gone. Now that Thrain… you know.”

“I know nothing about running a camp like this-” Bilbo cut off with a heaving sigh. There was no point trying to explain himself to them, he’d just have to talk calmly about it to Thorin later. And by _talk calmly_ of course, he meant _yell at each other until the other one caves_.

“Where are you even going, anyway?”

“GPS on the vehicle Smaug stole was working up until an hour ago- I suppose he didn’t notice until then.”

“Which way was he going?”

“Looked like he was heading to Inverie,” Dwalin paused before begrudgingly adding, “it’s kind of smart, I have to admit. It’s a good place for defending yourself- Gandalf’s stuff is all still there- there are barely any Orcs there, because they all waste away in the mountains before they can get there, and it’s almost impossible to get to.”

Bilbo sighed. “You mean it’s a massive death trap just waiting to happen.” But they were going anyway. He knew that Thorin wouldn’t stop until Smaug was dead and they had to formula back, even if it killed him in the process. Bilbo felt much the same.

Though to be honest he’d prefer not to die.

 

 


	21. S.M.A.U.G.

Frerin was seething when Bilbo and Dwalin came into Thrain’s old study to meet the others. “The smart arse didn’t even think to change his name, and no one here thought the better of it.” He was snarling.

Thorin was leaning against the wall, looking highly unimpressed by his brother’s lack of an explanation. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

Bilbo hadn’t seen Thorin much these past few days. He understood of course, Thorin’s father _had_ just died. But Bilbo just couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that Thorin somehow blamed him for what had happened. He wanted to do something, anything to make him feel better, but he wasn’t certain that his attempts would be welcome.

“You remember back when things were… less crap, right?” Frerin was asking. “When the scientists were looking for some kid of cure- before they all died.”

Dwalin shrugged. “Yeah,” he said.

“You remember what they called it?”

“I don’t know…” Dwalin gave a shake of his head, “S.L.O.T.H. or something.”

“They called it S.M.A.U.G.”

“Oh, my God,” Bilbo aid now, just realizing, “they did.” He’d known there was something of about the name. “But why would Smaug give himself a fake name?”

Frerin was shaking his head. “It’s not fake.”

Dwalin looked confuse. “It’s not?”

“Before the Outbreak,” Frerin explained, “the Smaug family was this rich ass group of fuckers who owned everything. Daddy Smaug was greedy and wanted eve more control, so he had his men design this disease, like Ebola, or Cholera, or something like that. It was to control the population, to give them power over other countries and governments. But it went out of control,” he continued, “and all the money in the world couldn’t save them from Orcs.”

Dis nodded in agreement. “People aren’t as encouraged by money when it can’t actually be used.”

“But Smaug survived,” Bilbo surmised, “and he heard about the cure.”

Frerin threw his arms wide. “And he wants to finish what is father started.”

“Fuck,” Dwalin spat now. “Why didn’t you mention his name before then, if you knew?”

“It’s been so long!” Frerin defended. “I knew it sounded weird, but I didn’t know why. People barely remember when the scientists were working on an antidote. Most of them were too busy panicking to even pay attention.”

Dwalin opened his mouth, but Bilbo waved a hand at him, cutting him off. “Stop.” He ordered. “We are of no use to anyone when we’re bickering about who didn’t do what.”

Dis sighed, looking resigned. “Bilbo’s right. Just get everything together, we’ll help you.”

“You’re staying?” Bilbo asked. He’d thought they’d be desperate to come along and tear Smaug apart.

“It’s for the best that we do.” Dis replied before leaving the room. She very clearly did not mean that. Bilbo threw a look to Thorin, who was watching

“Someone’s got to stay and look after it all, haven’t they?” Frerin gestured to the buildings around him before leaning in to whisper to Bilbo. “And I can’t do it on my own, so Dis is going to help. But don’t tell her I ever admitted that.” Bilbo wanted to laugh, but couldn’t bring himself to do it here in Thrain’s study. “Hey,” Frerin nudged him now, keeping his voice quiet still.

“Yeah?” he wondered.

“Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Bilbo didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. “I’ll try my best. But you know how stubborn he is.”

Frerin snorted. “Yeah, I do. It runs in the family.” He raised his voice again. “Hey, Dwalin, you need me to help pack the van for tomorrow morning?”

Dwalin gave a ‘whatever’ kind of shrug. “If you’d like.”

Bilbo waited until they were both out of the room to speak.

“Hey.”

Thorin just nodded in acknowledgement.

“How’re you doing? Okay, okay,” he put his hands up when Thorin raised an eyebrow, “stupid question, I know. I’ll, uh… leave you alone. But, you know, if you want to talk… or not talk, I suppose, you know where I am.”

He stepped towards the door before Thorin spoke, stopping him. “How’s your arm?”

“Huh?” He glanced down at himself before realizing he had, in fact, been shot. “Oh, yeah. It’s fine. Oin gave me some pain killers that are frankly just _awesome_.” The hint of a smile played on Thorin’s lips at that. “But, uh, yeah, it’s fine.” He stretched his arm and waved it a little. “Completely mobile and will not in any possible way be a burden when we leave.”

Thorin’s eyes darkened slightly. “And you’re certain I can’t talk you out of coming?”

Bilbo huffed, slightly annoyed. “You most certainly cannot.” He informed him sharply. “I am kind of useful in some situations, you know.”

“That’s not-” Thorin broke off, exhaling quickly through his nose. “You know that’s not it.”

“I took care of myself for a very long time before you lot came along, you know.” Bilbo informed him. “You do realize that, don’t you?” Thorin just pursed his lips. “Besides, who is the person who ha saved your ass the most?”

“Dwalin,” Thorin answered immediately.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “After Dwalin, then.”

Thorin’s mouth twitched. “Frerin, maybe.”

“Don’t be a bastard!” Bilbo smacked his arm playfully. “Without me you’d be Orc chow, so let’s not pretend I’m the one who needs looking after.”

“I can look after myself.” The words held no heat, it was just a simple statement.

“Sure you can. But it’s nice having people look out for you every once in a while, right?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good,” Bilbo grinned before stepping forward and taking his arm. “Now, come on,” he said, leading Thorin out of the study and towards the canteen. “Bombur wants to bring two hundred bags of food and you’re going to have to help me to convince him to lower it just a little.”

 

 


	22. Bullets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so if you’ve ever been to Inverie (or even googled it, I suppose) you’ll probably know it’s not all that desolate. It’s a lovely little place, very green, and I’m pretty sure it’s very popular for hikers and campers. But it is the only village in that area, so it is pretty isolated. There’s no access road leading to it, so if you aren’t fond of ferries then you’re kind of screwed. Anyway, tangent has ended; I’ll let you get to the story now.

Inverie was a harsh and icy landscape, with no real end in sight, just the long, towering peaks of the crags. For someone who hailed from London and had spent most of his life there, the harsh sight before him left him baffled.

“People actually _lived_ here?” Bilbo asked, staring at it from across the water.

“Sure they did,” Ori replied, shrugging. “Not everyone likes the city, you know.”

“Well, sure, but complete isolation? It just seems so… drastic.”

“Yes, well, in a time like this complete isolation is a good thing.” Dwalin interjected. “It means well be less likely to be swamped with Orc.”

Bilbo frowned at the foggy water. “What do we do now?” he asked.

“Look for a boat.” Thorin answered simply, before beginning to walk in the opposite direction. “Come on.”

Bilbo hurried after him, keeping close by. “Are you alright?” he wondered, keeping his voice low so the others couldn’t hear.

Thorin looked at him, surprised. “Of course I am.”

“You are not.” Bilbo whispered. “I can tell you’re not, and the others can, too. Listen,” he grabbed hold of Thorin’s wrist when he began to walk faster. “Just please don’t do anything rash because you want revenge. We all want revenge, we do, but there’s no use in it if you get yourself killed doing it.”

Thorin opened his mouth to argue, but Bilbo continued.

“I’m not saying you need to fall apart and cry on anyone's shoulder. And I'm not saying you can't do that either. You do what you need to do. But this is the most important thing we’ve ever done, and if we do it right and carefully, then we can get the antidote, and Gandalf, _and_ Smaug. And I’m not trying to be condescending, and yes,” he cut Thorin off once more with a wave of his hand, “I _know_ you know how t be careful. But your father just died, Thorin.” He pulled him to a stop. “You don’t have to pretend to be this pillar of strength for everyone’s sake. This isn’t the best place to talk about it, I know, but it needs to be mentioned before we go in there. Just,” he tugged Thorin closer, looking up at him with all the intensity he could muster, “promise me you’ll be careful. _Extra_ careful.”

For a while Thorin was quiet, before sighing. “Fine,” he replied eventually. Then his tone turned teasing. “I’ll be _super_ careful. I already _am_ being _super_ _careful_.”

“I said extra,” Bilbo replied dryly, “not super. But the point still stands.”

“You want to go find a boat now?” Thorin suggested.

“Yeah,” Bilbo let go of his hand. “Alright.”

They found some dingy little thing half-hidden underneath some overgrown shrubs, and Thorin tested it out in the water to make sure it didn’t have any holes in it.

“We can’t all fit in here.” Bilbo said, frowning at is as Thorin floated a few feet away in the water. “We’ll have to go in two batches.”

“Dwalin, Bofur, Ori, you come with me first,” Thorin paddled the boat back to the dock, ushering them on board, “and then Bofur can paddle back and Bombur, Bilbo and Nori can go with him.”

“Alright.”

They shivered and shook, their teeth chattering in the cold while they watched the boat disappear through the fog and to the other side where Inverie was.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Bombur asked. “I’m freezing my tits off.”

“Of course you are.” Nori rolled his eyes. “Jump up and down.”

Bombur just raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I look like someone who jumps up and down often?” he wondered, waving a hand down at his round figure.

Bilbo snickered.

“How you’re still alive,” Nori said now, “I have no clue.”

“Me neither, if I’m being honest.” Bombur informed him.

Thankfully, soon enough Bofur was paddling back to pick them up.

The boat rocked and swayed, and after less than a minute of paddling, Bombur looked like he was going to be sick.

“If you blow chunks it better be over the side of the boat into the water and not on my shoes,” Nori told him, directing a stern glare at him. “I just stole these from a house last month.”

He could see the other side through the fog a bit better now, and the figures of the others. Bofur docked the boat and they managed to get out without falling into the water and causing a ruckus, though there were a few hairy moments where Bilbo was certain Bombur was going to topple them all into the murky, freezing water.

They crept silently, or at least, as silently as seven exhausted and ill men could be. Bombur still looked like he was going to throw up.

“Don’t,” Bofur told him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “or he’ll hear us coming and probably shoot us and kill us.”

“Well, thanks for the pressure,” Bombur hissed at his younger brother.

“Plus,” Nori added, “the smell is disgusting.”

“Shut up, the lot of you.” Thorin ordered. “Just be quiet.”

They came to a stop, listening carefully. Somewhere in the distance, there was a slight bang, like a door closing.

“I think it came from the white house there.”

“Which one?” Bombur wanted to know.

Thorin sighed. “The while one,” he repeated.

Nori made a face. “They’re all bloody white, mate.”

Bilbo smacked him upside the head.

“Thank you,” Thorin told him, looking pleased. Bilbo supposed he must have read his mind. “Bilbo, you go round the back with Bombur,” he gave him a pleading look, “and Nori. I need Dwalin and Bofur,” he glanced at Ori. “You’ve got free pick, Ori.”

“I’ll go with Bilbo.” He directed a quick smile up at Dwalin, who nodded in understanding.

“Be careful,” Bilbo informed Thorin now, before diverting off the path and around the grass.

“So which white house was he talking about?” Ori wondered as they crept. “The one with the brown awnings.”

“ _Oh_ ,” the three others declared in unison.

The closer he got the better he could hear voices on the inside.

“Stop being so difficult!” A voice hissed.

“Smaug,” Bombur muttered, “Definitely Smaug.”

“You can hear the contempt,” Nori added.

“Hush,” Bilbo hissed at them, ducking under the window and crawling past towards the back. The others followed suit. The back door was slightly ajar, probably just in case of an attack.

“What do we do now?” Nori asked.

“We wait for Thorin to go in the front.”It didn’t take long. Bilbo could hear the door burst open and scattering in the back room. The back door remained motionless though.

We made his way to the door, waving for the others to follow him in.

It had probably been a lovely house before the Outbreak. The furniture probably would have been in better condition than it was, and there certainly would have been less blood on the walls. Bilbo held his cricket bat up, wondering why on earth he hadn’t asked for a gun sooner, and glanced quickly around the corner. And of course Smaug had Gandalf hostage. No surprise there. The surprise, however, was the groaning Orc in the corner of the room, thrashing against chains. Bilbo supposed they would have done their own tests, though he couldn’t understand why he’d use an Orc to try the serum on. It couldn’t change Orc _back_ , just prevent the infected from changing.

That was when he saw it- the crescent shaped bite mark on Gandalf’s arm. “Oh, shit,” he hissed.

“Put down your damn guns.” Smaug informed them, his back to Bilbo and the others. Dwalin and Thorin kept their eyes very pointedly away from Bilbo, and Bofur directed his gaze to the floor immediately. “It doesn’t really matter to me how he died, you know. I know the formula already. I can shoot him, or leave him and he’ll change. But you-” he pointed the gun at Thorin. “You need him in once piece. So I call the shots, and you do what I say.”

Bilbo had certainly had enough of this. He stepped into the room, snuck up behind Smaug, and smacked him over the head with his cricket bat.

The gun hit the ground, and then Smaug hit the ground as well, and Bilbo kicked the weapon out of his reach when he tried to make a grab for it.

“Don’t you _dare_!” he spat, kicking him in the side so he rolled onto his back. He pressed the cricket bat to his throat. “Don’t make the mistake of pissing me off any more than you already have.”

“I was sure I’d hit your chest.” Smaug paused. “I didn’t have time to check.”

“Well, you don’t have as good of an aim as you like to think.” He lifted his bad arm. “As you can clearly see, you missed you mark.” He looked at Gandalf. “Are you alright?”

Gandalf pulled something out of his pocket with shaking hands. “Fine, fine,” he replied rather airily. The shaking appeared to be a side-effect of the bite rather than his own nervousness, because as calm as anything; he injected himself and sat down on the ground. “Right.” He exhaled loudly. “I’m alright now.”

“Good.”

“Uh, guys,” Nori began now, “what do we do about _him_?” He was pointing at the Orc in the corner of the room.

Dwalin simply lifted his gun and shot it in the middle of the head. Everyone jumped.

“Well,” Nori breathed now, “I suppose that was an answer, even if it was nonverbal.”

“I’ve got a better question,” Dwalin said now. “What do we do with _him_?”

“I have an idea,” Smaug replied dryly.

It all happened very quickly. Smaug’s leg snapped up, hitting Bilbo in his injured arm. He fell backwards, and Smaug had scrambled to the left, grabbing his gun. He swung round, and two shots run off at the same time.

Smaug hit the ground again; a hole through his neck, and Thorin fell against the wall, dropping his gun.

“ _Thorin_!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so if there are any continuity errors, point them out and I’ll fix them!


	23. Kevlar

Bilbo fell to his knees in front of Thorin, who had now slid to the ground.

“Thorin? Thorin!” he pulled open his shirt to find the wound and found…

 _Nothing_.

“Is that _Kevlar_?” Nori demanded in anger. “Why don’t I have one of those?!”

Bilbo ran his hands over the bulletproof vest, heart still racing. “Unbelievable,” he breathed now, looking back up at Thorin for some kind of explanation.

He looked winded, but other than that fine. “I told you I was being super careful.” Thorin told him a little breathlessly.

Bilbo laughed in relief, adrenaline still running through his system. “Oh, thank God.” He grabbed Thorin’s face and kissed him.

“Oh, God,” Nori groaned. “Please, no PDA’s.”

Bilbo decided to ignore him.

“I disagree.” Ori replied cheerily, grabbing Dwalin and yanking him downwards.

Nori glanced over at Bofur. “You want a kiss, too?” he asked, grinning cheekily.

“In your dreams,” Bofur replied dryly.

“That’s not what you said the other night-” he received a smack around the back of his head at that. “Ow! Why is everyone doing that?!”

“Because you’re an annoying bastard?” Bombur suggested.

Nori sighed, pouting. “I just wanted a kiss. Everyone’s getting kisses.”

Bofur looked like he was considering it. “Maybe later,” he informed Nori eventually, turning to help Gandalf pack his things back up.

“I’m not going to get kidnapped by someone again when I get there, am I?” he asked, reaching for his notebook.

“I can’t make any promises,” Thorin groaned now, getting to his feet. “If it makes you feel any better I’m _fairly_ sure there are no more psycho’s in our camp.”

“Uh,” Ori pulled away from Dwalin now, “Nori’s a psycho.” He pointed at his brother now. “You know, completely insane and all that.”

Bilbo snorted, and then sighed. “Can we get out of here now? I’d like to go home.”

Home. What a weird thing to call it. But it was home now. For all of them. It wasn’t like he was going to return to his apartment in London any time soon, and that all seemed so far away anyway, like a dream- a half remembered life.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do with Gandalf’s formula,” he added eventually.

“I suppose we can’t stop at the pub on the way back,” Nori lamented. “Probably a good thing anyway. Orc aren’t the best drinking buddies in the world.”

 

* * *

 

They didn’t exactly receive a cheering crowd when they got back, not that they’d been expecting it. He supposed even with the antidote being found, then lost and found again, and Smaug being killed, people had still died. Everyone had yet to fully mourn.

They buried Thrain and the others in the small clearing just outside the walls of Erebor, and though the processions had been quick to make sure no straggling Orc interrupted and ate them all, it was still respectful and decent. Especially for a bunch of people who didn’t really know how to go about planning a normal funeral, much less a funeral in the middle of a zombie outbreak.

Thorin stayed in his father’s study for a few days, not coming out or speaking to anyone. Bilbo didn’t take it personally. He was hard at work, anyway, trying to find places where they could get the odd things Gandalf required for his serum.

Some things they could get different things to make, other things were very specific and had to be found in chemists. Which was going to be interesting, but they had to do what they had to do, right? And Gandalf had enough of the antidote made already with the ingredients he’d had left to make sure that if any of them _did_ get bitten in an attempt to get more ingredients, they’d be fine. They just had to make sure they weren’t torn limb from limb, or eaten by Trolls.

Which was easier said than done, obviously.

They’d work it out soon.

Bilbo found Frerin at one outpost at the top of the gate. Well, he didn’t’ _find_ him, really. He’d seen him from a distance and had gone up to talk to him. “How are you?”

Frerin shrugged. “Okay, surprisingly,” he replied. “I mean, obviously we’re grieving. You know, sad. But I suppose losing our mother to it already, and other family members… It’s just that death is a day to day thing here. Even more so than it was before. Before you could die in a car accident, or from cancer. But those things were…” he sighed. “They just seemed so far away. Like they couldn’t touch you. And then, suddenly, I suppose, someone close to you would tell you they’ve got a disease, or you’d get a call from the police or the hospital. Now it’s so… omnipotent. It’s always hanging over us. We expect it more. We think about it more.” He turned to Bilbo now. “So it’s not as bad.” He paused for a moment. “Am I making sense? I sound crazy, don’t I?”

“No, not at all. I get it.” Bilbo rubbed his shoulders comfortingly.

“I just wish…” Frerin said now, “I wish he’d at least seen the formula being made and reproduced, you know? That he could have been part of that. He would have been so-” he trailed off.

Bilbo glanced back at the encampment, to where Thrain’s study was.

“How is he?” he wondered.

For a while Frerin seemed to think about it. “Collecting himself, I think,” he answered eventually. “He’s got big shoes to fill now.” He laughed. “We all do. We have to get on with it soon, so whatever he needs to deal with he needs to deal with now- hence the locking himself away like Rapunzel.” Frerin smiled now. “You’re good for him, you know.”

Bilbo looked at him in surprise. “Am I?” he wondered.

“Well, everyone needs something, right? Something to keep them centred, keep them from becoming disillusioned, from losing their mind. For Thorin we always assumed it was working. Going out and shooting things, saving people. But now I think he just needs someone to talk to. Someone who understands.”

Bilbo shook his head now. “I don’t understand anything,” he announced.

“You understand _him_. Sometimes you say things to him that make no sense to me, but I can see he gets it. You snap him out of it when he’s in one of those moods. You bring him to point. You centre him.”

Bilbo pulled a face. “You make me sound like I’m Yoga or something.”

Frerin laughed at him, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

“You could go talk to him, you know,” Frerin told him after a few minutes. He looked out at the forest. “He wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll think about it.” Bilbo replied, watching some birds in the distance.

Things felt good now, like they were turning a corner.

 

* * *

 

He went to see Thorin later that night. He was at his father’s desk, frowning down at something in his hands.

“I bought food that Bombur slaved over for you so you _will_ eat it.” He said in lieu of a greeting.

Thorin glanced up, gaze clearing. “What is it? Milk or Orc?”

“That sounds a bit odd.” Bilbo mused now, setting the plate down in front of him. “What’s that?”

“Photo of my parents,” he held it up.

Bilbo smiled at the couple, sitting on a chair in a park. “She looks like you,” he commented.

Thorin looked at the photo once more, considering it. “I don’t know whether I should take that as a compliment or not…” he joked now.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and made move to ask whether he should leave or not, but Thorin spoke first.

“They hated each other, you now,” he informed Bilbo.

He took a seat across the desk from him. “They did?” he asked.

Thorin grinned. “Yeah, they drove each other mad. When they first met, my mother punched him in the face.” He paused. “It wasn’t the first time.”

Bilbo laughed. “Well,” he said now, “I think fighting is the mark of a good couple.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Bilbo nodded. “I sure do. It just means you’re perfectly comfortably calling each other out on bullshit.” Thorin snorted. “Plus,” Bilbo continued now, “people who are more open with each other about those things usually are stronger couples. Even if it does result in more fights. Now I don’t mean every couple that fights all the time is strong, not at all. There is such a thing as too much fighting, of course.”

“Of course,” Thorin agreed.

“But being honest is a big part of being in a relationship, and if you’re not comfortable telling a person how you really feel about things then it’s not going to go well, is it?”

Thorin smiled now. “No, I suppose not.” He set the picture down. “You infuriate me.”

“And you infuriate me.” Bilbo returned calmly. “You also have a terrible habit of thinking you know the solution to everything and you snore too loudly.”

“And you chew your nails,” Thorin announced, smile turning into a full-blown grin. “But I don’t mind it so much now that I know you better.”

They looked at each other for a moment or two before Bilbo spoke again. “Your food’s going cold.”

“Does that make you mad?” Thorin wondered.

“Your teasing me makes me mad.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Does it?”

“Oh, yes,” he informed him.

“Really?”

Bilbo nodded. “Certainly. And I might just drag you out of here by your hair and beat you up out in front of everybody if you don’t stop now.”

Thorin laughed, grabbing his fork. “Point taken.”

“What do you think about couples who argue?” Bilbo asked him a little while later, once his plate was empty and they’d moved to sit by the fire.

“I think couples who don’t argue are strange and shifty and are probably lying,” Thorin replied.

Bilbo grinned. “I knew there was a reason I was with you.” He said, leaning up and kissing him.

“I am more than just a pretty face, yes,” he agreed, slipping his hands around Bilbo’s waist.

 

 


	24. Patience

Over the months that passed, they slowly gathered enough ingredients for Gandalf to start making the first few batches of the antidote to send to the other camps. Dain’s was the first to receive it, and it was like a lifeline that poured right through the area.

Obviously the demand highly exceeded the products rate of creation, and many were still waiting, but a step ahead was a step ahead, no matter how small.

Slowly, very slowly, life began to trickle back into the less populated areas. More people meant more hands, and a few ore camps sprung up after a year. 

One quickly turned into two and then two into three, and the Iron Hills now had its own distribution area, thanks to a handy chemist there who could replicate Gandalf’s formula without trouble. Death rates slowly descended, but were still uncomfortably high.

Orc’s still roamed the areas, attacking people. A troll had even made it all the way up the Erebor and had tried to ram the gate down. It had very nearly succeeded, had Ori not got his hands on a whaling harpoon and shot it through the eye. Apparently, it was Nori’s.

_“Why do you even have a whaling harpoon?” Bofur had wondered while they tried to get rid of the Troll’s body._

_“Uh, precisely for a situation like this,” Nori had replied, sounding like he was trying very hard not to add a ‘duh’ at the end._

_Bofur had just given Bilbo an incredulous look. Bilbo shrugged at him, as if to say ‘you’re the one who chooses to sleep with the weirdo’._

_Bofur rolled his eyes, looking much like he was mentally replying with ‘I know, I can’t believe it either’. But he was smiling, so Bilbo thought that he knew the reason why he was with Nori, even if nobody else did._

There was still a long way to go, but they’d started, and that was a hell of a lot more than where they were at a few years ago.

“Another healthy baby delivered,” Oin announced, slumping down at the table in the canteen later that night. He looked exhausted. “That’s two in the past three months.”

“Well,” Nori said now, shrugging, “people like getting busy.”

Dori slapped his shoulder as the rest of them rolled their eyes, more than used to it by now.

“It’ll be nice having some kids run around, though.” Ori said now, smiling faintly. “Of course, dangerous, as well, and probably a pain in the arse. But nice.”

“Yeah, some fresh blood.” Bofur agreed. “God knows we need it, old sods we are.”

Ori laughed at him. “Speak for yourself. I’m still a young spring chicken and I intend to stay that way for some time.”

They stayed like that for some time, talking and drinking, until Bilbo decided it was best he stop before he got a little too tipsy. The decision, he had to admit, came a bit too late considering he was already soused in the stuff.

He found Thorin in their room, filling a pack with clothing and weapons.

Bilbo frowned at him in the doorway. “Running off again, are you?”

Thorin didn’t jump. Just turned and smiled. “Perhaps I am. Would you like to run off with me?”

“Depends on where.” Bilbo flopped down on the bed, heaving a sigh.

Thorin raised an eyebrow, scrutinising him. “You’re pissed,” he said eventually.

“A little, yes,” he replied with a grin. “You should try it sometime, it’s awful fun.”

Thorin chuckled, leaning over and kissing him quickly before returning to his packing. “I’d hate to be pissed when an Orc attacks, I’ll say that much.”

Bilbo laid down, stretching out and watching him. “So,” he yawned after some minutes had passed, “where are you running off to now, Fearless Leader?”

Thorin zipped up the pack and set it onto the ground before lying down beside him.

“Dain’s men sent word that they’ve spotted a large group of Orc surrounding something that looks like a small camp- they want backup before they check it out.” Thorin grinned now, reaching over and tugging at his curls. “You feel like going on another adventure?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, wondering how long it’d take him to burn off the alcohol he’d consumed. “Do you even need to ask?”

And if he winced at the rising sun that morning when they set out, Thorin was kind enough not to say so, even if he did smile smugly.

Bilbo decided that when the world got better and they didn’t have to fight Orc the next morning, he’d get him back.

After all, a Baggins could be patient.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done, thank God! You guys have no idea how hard this was for me to finish. I'm going to go headdesk in the corner now.


End file.
